The Vigilante's War
by kingofthewilderwest
Summary: A mysterious, antagonistic dragon rider dubbed "the Vigilante" has been attacking dragon trappers' boats, and her increasingly violent actions appear to leading to full-scale war that threatens not only Eret and Drago's people, but the dragon riders of Berk, as well. A HTTYD 2 alternate universe in which Valka is Hiccup's greatest foe and Drago an ally, not an enemy, of Berk.
1. I Prologue: From Out of the Haze

**I.**

His ears rang and he was aware of nothing else. No vision, no touch, no other sounds. Those did not exist. Never existed. Never would and could never be conceived. Reality meant only one thing, one shrill high-pitched squeal which drove like drills into his eardrums, pierced his mind, rattled his skull. The world was a scream inside his head.

_Did – did something happen?_

Something existed beyond those shrieks in his head. Something _had_ to exist, something beyond his hearing. Or could he hear? Could he perceive anything at all?

Were those the shouts of men in the distance?

He opened his eyes.

Underneath him swirled an indistinct mosaic of red, brown, peach, and white patches. Nothing understandable. He squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head to clear his thoughts, and opened his eyes again, blinking rapidly to focus. Same colors, but clearer now. White. Light tan. Ashy brown. Red. And there before him was a picture.

Two dirtied, bloodied hands clung to gravel beneath him. Shards of ice pierced several fingers, though it took him much more concentration to even recognize those were his fingers, let alone feel the stinging sensation from those injuries. _His_ injuries. Blood… blood everywhere.

_Is that all mine?_

The piercing ring inside his skull was beginning to subside, but only slightly, so that every other sound around him echoed behind a screen of high-pitched shrieking. But he could hear now the sounds of war around him, the groan of catapults swinging burning boulders into the sky, the thunderous roars of angry dragons, the brittle clang of steel and the bold bellows of fighting men. Something wailed in the distance – he thought it was the distance – but that skull-shattering ring prevented him from properly gauging anything. It was still so hard to think.

Two words came to mind, anyway, out of the haze.

_I'm… safe._

That much he knew. Somehow.

He tightened his hands, loosened them again. Breathed in, breathed out. He could feel himself stooped in the dirt, his shoulders hunched over his head, his knees buried in the ground and tucked underneath his torso. His neck was bent low close to the earth, providing him a good view of his hands and the ground and nothing else.

Well, and the blood.

_That can't possibly be all mine._

There were guts intermingled with the blood, lying in the dirt like slaughtered, overgrown worms.

Were there any other injuries on his body he could not feel? He felt his shoulders rotating as he tried to right himself up and sit with his legs still tucked underneath him. From what his eyes could observe, beyond his scraped-up hands, he was uninjured; patting his leather shirt, his pants, his foot, he could find no other wound, either. The blood was not his own.

His eyes followed the trail of red to its source, lying several yards away and covered in ice.

_No._

And suddenly he remembered everything.


	2. II Whispers of an Enemy

**II.**

He found nothing more exhilarating than flying. To plunge into formless clouds, to sweep and dive and hurl himself toward the earth, to zip along the ocean surface, to shoot up to the sun. Twirls, spins, aggressive barrel rolls, reckless racing, sudden altitude drops and a near-nauseating sense of vertigo. Whipping wind howling loudly in his ear, muffling his excited whoops. Air hurtling at his face so strongly he had to crouch in the saddle to remain steady. Blues and whites and browns and greens all swarming together, spinning, twirling, rolling rapidly past his eyes too quickly to take any meaning. Heart pounding heavily, thumping against his rib cage, urging him faster, faster, faster.

Here in the skies, he was free.

Hiccup hardly cared he was missing today's dragon race taking place back in the village. As enjoyable as he found the sport, avoiding other human company felt far preferable. Especially, avoiding the company of one particular human. Competing in today's event would only exacerbate issues and force him to confront his father, but here, racing along the shoreline, heading increasingly further from human civilization, he could fly away from any problems and nearly forget memories from earlier today. He hunched down low and urged his dragon Toothless down toward the ocean water so that the two of them glided along the tops of the wave crests.

He could feel the powerful beating of his dragon Toothless' wings as they skimmed along the ocean water, so close to the surface they could catch sight of fish and other sea creatures swimming underneath. Powerful wide-mouthed Thunderdrums, bright blue sea dragons with tiny yellow eyes and disproportionately wide jaws, leaped in and out of the waters, glancing warily at the young man and his dragon speeding recklessly past them. Wings flapped, and Hiccup and Toothless again took to higher altitude, this time to complete a loop-de-loop that turned both their worlds momentarily upside-down. All sense of gravity ended; they floated, weightless, in the clouds.

Their flight was wordless. Boy and dragon needed no words to communicate, no conscious thoughts to direct them on their course. They flew as one. Hiccup did not have to think here – only fly – exactly as he needed to forget this morning's conversation.

When they reached the tip of the sky, Toothless' movements slowed and he simplified his daring spirals to steady wing flaps. Hiccup, in turn, sat up straighter in his saddle. For a moment the heady rush of fast flying faded into peaceful calm, but Hiccup had no intentions of ending their morning adventures yet.

"What do you think, bud?" he asked, leaning down and patting Toothless on the right side of the neck. "You want to give this a shot?"

The dragon immediately understood Hiccup's intent and pulled a worried groan out from his throat.

"Come on, it'll be fine." And before Toothless could object any more, Hiccup pulled two levers from the saddle to stiffen Toothless's tail, unclipped himself from the saddle's horn, and leaned straight-backed to his right. He dove head-first off his dragon with an excited screech. Toothless followed suit and hurled straight downward toward the earth.

With a sudden mutual snap, Toothless unfurled his wings, while Hiccup grabbed two straps near his ankles and pulled out a set of hand-made sails. In an instant, both were gliding again, side-by-side. "This is amazing!" Hiccup shouted.

If only his entire life could be spent in the air amongst the dragons.

He could see the world in all its beauty for miles around, everything stretching below him, the ocean to his left and straight ahead, the land of Berk to his right. Trees swarmed every inch of earth, even craggy precipices and impossibly straight, tall cliff sides. Strict vertical rises clashed with gentler rolling hills. And something, something in the distance, he suddenly realized, roiled in a cloud of smoke.

"Toothless, do you see that?" he shouted out. Though he could not point to anything with his flight suit extended, his dragon bellowed an affirmative response. Toothless dipped under Hiccup for a second and allowed the boy to resettle himself in the saddle, and the two of them flew forward to investigate. It appeared as though some structure in the distance were burning.

Clouds of black smoke thickened as the two of them approached, obfuscating their target from view and leaving them flapping in a silent, colloidal void. Gray smoke churned all about them. The only reason Hiccup knew they still flew straight was that the scent of burnt wood became increasingly strong and pungent. Then suddenly, without any warning at all, the smoke cleared, and an entire, looming fortress of blue-green ice burst into existence.

It seemed to grow organically out from the ocean, this fortress. Much like many-faced, sharp-edged gems grew out from the depths of cave, so did this enormous frozen mountain bust forth from the bottom of the ocean and climb to the sky's chilling heights. Hiccup and Toothless were instantly dwarfed. And while they left the clouds of smoke behind, drifting behind them in a slight north-heading breeze, the smells of recent destruction burned in the ice.

Simultaneously awed and frightened, Hiccup asked to himself, "What is this?"

As he and Toothless approached the enormous spikes of ice shooting to the skies, they noticed the shattered beams and ruptured roofs of what might once have been some human habitation. So large were the fangs of ice piercing the demolished building that these recently-made ruins looked like nothing more than a shattered dollhouse. Not one foundational stone had been unturned, and well more than half of those had been shot up to great mountainous heights and left resting on top of giant ice shards. Wood probably used to construct the walls and interiors had been burnt and ripped apart so thoroughly it looked more like blackened sawdust than timber wood. Once Hiccup thought he spotted a tiny hand resting in the middle of the ice, nothing attached to it, just resting casually on top a small chunk of wood like ham on a platter, an image which made him shudder and urge Toothless on faster.

They continued to circle the strange glacier. Toothless flew in close, but even then, they could locate no sign of any living creature.

"What could have done all this?"

Hiccup strained his ears to listen in case whatever monster destroyed this outpost still resided nearby. He detected nothing that indicated the structures' attacker remained here; he could hear the creak of the ice expanding and contracting with the temperature, as well as the constant beat of Toothless's wings, and a faint whistling that slowly became louder. With shock he suddenly realized nets were flying toward him, but neither he nor Toothless could react in time before one caught his dragon's left wing, another Toothless's front feet. Once again he and Toothless plummeted downward, though this time, not out of their own intention. The world turned into spinning aqua green ice, and with a shout from Hiccup and a roar from Toothless, they braced for impact.


	3. III Whispers of an Enemy

**III.**

Toothless' wing shielded Hiccup from the worst of the crash. Still, his shoulder jolted up against his armor, banging against the floor of a plateau of ice. He tried to ignore the pain, immediately launching himself onto his foot and peg leg to fight whatever attackers had brought Toothless down. As he did so, he reached for his sword on his right side, pushing a switch to extend the blade and light it on fire. He could hear Toothless growling menacingly at the same time some men shouted in astonishment. Quickly he cut Toothless's bonds before he turned around to face them.

"Stay back!" he called out even as he saw his assailants for the first time. They appeared like rather ordinary Viking men, sporting beards, fur coats, fuzzy boots, and an assortment of large-buckled belts. Many of them backed away in shock as Hiccup slashed the air with his flaming sword. Only one, in fact, appeared truly unintimidated by Hiccup's display, a young, clean-shaved man maybe four or five years Hiccup's senior, garbed in furs, who wore his shoulder-length near-black hair back in a loose ponytail. Dark eyes, either mottled hazel or brown in coloration, intently stared at Hiccup beneath a set of thick eyebrows. He stayed his distance from Hiccup as he spoke. "Step away from the dragon," he commanded in a resonant voice, "and surrender now."

His companions, drawing themselves up, notched crossbows and aimed them all at Toothless and Hiccup. Hiccup could not precisely count their numbers – there were probably about a dozen of them, maybe more hidden amongst crags in the ice – but it was more than enough to assure he and Toothless could not fly off and escape.

"Step away from – uh – what are you _doing_?" Hiccup asked, baffled. Of course he remained his ground right next to Toothless. "Surrender? I – I – I'm not a threat, I assure you, I'm –"

Before Hiccup could explain his purpose, the young man cut him off and stated, "You might have an ice-spitting dragon and more on your side, but believe me, you're not getting away." The man trod forward with a swagger and a smirk to his face. His long tattooed chin sported five vertical stripes which only emphasized his cocky grin. "Where is that ice-spitter now, by the way?"

"An ice-spitting dragon? What? Is that what caused all this?" Hiccup gestured with his right hand toward the broken mounds of wood and stone embedded in the ice. A few men around him glanced nervously up to the glacier's frozen peaks. Since some areas still smoldered from fire, and other places shuddered from the impact of ice, likely as not their attacker, or quite potentially attackers plural, had left not too long ago.

And apparently these men believed that their assailants had never left at all. Not in how they tightly gripped their weapons, knuckles whitening over halberds and swords, fingers stroking bows and arrows, eyes never leaving their intended target did they choose to loose a shaft. Not in how their leader spoke. "Quit pretending you know nothing. Drago's had enough of all this mischief."

Hiccup frowned. "What? Drago? Mischief? Does anything you say make sense?" He glanced at Toothless, as if the dragon might supply him a few answers since his ambushers were clearly talking nonsense. Toothless provided a noncommittal groan from his throat.

One of the other men, standing right beside their leader, leaned in and whispered, "I don't think he's the dragon rider. The Vigilante."

"Maybe. You really don't know?" The young man with the chin tattoos furrowed his thick eyebrows, clearly quite surprised, but at least now this meant he clearly doubted Hiccup's role in the ice attack. He waved to his men to sheath their weapons. Some – but not all – complied. "There are other dragon riders besides the Vigilante?"

"A whole island-full," Hiccup answered.

That caused everyone to pause.

"Do you happen to know," the man voiced slowly, "if one those dragon riders on your island has been attacking our ships and forts?"

"No, I – I have never heard anything like this. I don't even think anyone on our island knows you exist… uh… strange hostile person I never met."

"Oh, excuse me for my poor manners." The man bowed down low, perhaps cockily, perhaps mockingly, or maybe a fair combination of both. The two traits needed not be mutually exclusive. "I am Eret, son of Eret. The finest dragon trapper around."

"So that's why you want to find this… other rider… is it?" Hiccup asked, still trying to comprehend the fact that more than just the Hairy Hooligans of Berk had managed to fly on dragons. Despite the clear antagonistic nature of this Vigilante, Hiccup almost wanted to meet him. "You want to find him to trap his dragon?"

"This dragon rider, whom we've started calling 'the Vigilante'," Eret said, beginning to pace in front of Hiccup as he narrated, "is the reason we started trapping dragons in the first place. Or, at least, trapping them more regularly. I suppose we've always captured and killed a few dragons – those which invaded and attacked our homes, of course – but once the Vigilante appeared leading his army of wild dragons, Chief Drago decided we had no choice but to defend ourselves."

"So this rider just started – well, attacking you? For no reason at all?"

"None that we know of. No one has ever been successful speaking to him, and nor has anyone been able to stop or capture him. The last time I tried, I received this." Eret pulled down his shirt to bare the left side of his chest, displaying a mottled red and pink calloused mark that likely as not still chafed when it rubbed against his shirt. Hiccup cringed at the sight. "That burn mark was from one of the dragons who attacked us several months back."

"And the attacks are only worsening," Eret continued. He pointed at Hiccup with his sword, but this time it seemed only an idle gesture, nothing unfriendly. "You should watch yourself. You and all your… dragon-riding… people. I don't know what the Vigilante's game is, but if his aggression gets any worse and spreads any further, your people could be in danger, too."

"Good to know, I think," Hiccup said, green eyes wide as he tried to process all the information. He only now just realized his sword was still lit, and hastily snapped it off and placed it back in its straps along his right hip. "Now," he said, gesturing to several clusters of notched bows and arrows and trying to smile amelioratively, "would you mind putting those away? I think we've all established we're friends, right?"

"I'll believe you have nothing to do with the attack on this fort," Eret answered, apparently not so fully committed to the idea of being 'friends' as Hiccup was. "But if you return and we see any sign you're in league with the Vigilante, well, you won't be so lucky next time."

"I assure you I will never do that. And if this 'Vigilante' is so much of a threat to you, and, well, all of us, maybe it's time for our two peoples to work out an alliance."

The dark-haired young man's jaw dropped.

"Well, that said," Hiccup said, swinging his two arms awkwardly, "it's been… interesting… meeting you, and I have best be off."

"Yes, I suppose so." And Eret, with a strange unreadable expression in his eyes, watched Hiccup climb into the saddle and shout to his Night Fury to take them to the skies. The animal launched into the air with ease, powerfully beating its wings and gaining altitude quickly. Only when the rider and his dragon disappeared into the smoke did Eret turn around, pursing his lips contemplatively and wrinkling some of the marks on his chin, and ask the two Vikings nearest to him, "Think I did the right thing? Or does he know I'm lying?"

The smoke continued to billow before their eyes. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see."


	4. IV Responsibilities

**IV.**

The wild, excited roar of hundreds of Vikings burst into screaming adulation. Above them all bellowed Stoick the Vast's overenthusiastic voice, rejoicing the thrilling end of the dragon racing game. Astrid's rapidly rotating world stabilized as her dragon, Stormfly, completed her upside-down loop-de-loop and shot off to fly a victory lap around Berk. Laughing, Astrid climbed on top of her saddle, standing upright and pumping her fists into the air, basking in the glory of yet another win. Today had been a close competition. That just made the win all the more glorious to her, though. All across the village, Vikings, standing on top of the highest points of buildings, raised celebratory fists to congratulate Astrid, while the other competing riders slowed their dragons down and glared glumly at her through their face paint. Ruffnut especially sported a potent glower; the young Hooligan woman had been in the lead until this last round in the game.

_In part because Snotlout and Fishlegs gave her half her points._ Astrid shook her head in bafflement. Hiccup would never cater to her in such a manner – on the contrary, he was her greatest dragon racing opponent, and always excessively teased her when he won a game. As did she whenever she defeated him.

At this thought, she glanced off toward the southern horizon, wondering yet again why Hiccup had uncharacteristically missed today's competition. No one had seen the chief's son the entire day.

The large, webbed wings of a red Monstrous Nightmare flapped toward a clearing at the north end of the village, joining the double-headed Hideous Zippleback and chunky Gronkle which had already landed. Astrid followed suit, alighted beside the other dismounted dragon riders, and once she climbed off from her saddle, affectionately embraced her dragon's beak, murmuring, "Great flying, Stormfly. Couldn't have done it without you." Tuffnut and Snotlout nodded slightly in reluctant congratulations toward Astrid, while Fishlegs, more good-sported, outright stated, "Wonderful job, Astrid." Then, turning his wide face toward Ruffnut, crooned, "But you played wonderfully yourself, darling. I'm sure you'll win next time."

"Tuffnut, if I loosed some gas, would you mind having Belch spark it?"

"Sure thing, sis." Tuffnut grinned widely, always eager for the opportunity to blow anything up, especially one of the annoying men futilely attempting to win over his sister's heart. His face appeared especially manic and ghoulish underneath the thick layers of yellow and black face paint.

Fishlegs backed away from Ruffnut and Tuffnut's two-headed dragon hurriedly. "That's okay, no worries, sweetie," he gasped. "I'm busy anyway. I'm heading off to the Academy to study one of the new dragons I brought in, the Venomous Vorpent."

Astrid stood on the green turf with her arms crossed. "The Venomous Vorpent?" she asked, leery. "Isn't that supposed to be incredibly poisonous?" It seemed slightly strange that Fishlegs, even with all his love of dragon species, would so incautiously approach a creature which could kill him with a small scratch from its stinger.

Thankfully, Fishlegs did not launch into a longwinded lecture regarding the poisonous nature of the dragon, instead simply answering, "Don't worry. You know I wouldn't do this if it weren't completely safe. Hiccup figured out a cure in case I get stung."

"Hiccup found a – how does he know that's a cu – do I even want to know?" Astrid had believed she knew everything Hiccup had been into over the last few days – which was quite a lot, and which admittedly was much of her fault as well – but apparently this event had somehow escaped her attention. She would have to demand her boyfriend to recount what dangerous, idiotic adventure he had plunged into this time. Once she found him, of course.

_Why would he possibly miss today's dragon racing competition? He's been looking forward to it all week._

"Speaking of Hiccup, have you seen him around today?" Astrid asked Fishlegs and the group in general.

"Nope. No idea where he's at." Snotlout appeared far more interested in smiling charmingly – or at least what he believed was charmingly – toward Ruffnut than engaging in conversation with anyone else. He looked more like a seasick troll than an attractive suitor. Everyone else likewise denied any knowledge of Hiccup's location, so Astrid, shrugging, hopped back onto Stormfly and urged, "Come on, let's go find him."

She checked all the areas he often retreated to when he wished to be alone, first swooping over a small cove filled with memories of her teenaged years. Only fish splashed in the lake's shallow waters, so she turned to the east, flapping up to a craggy peek where she and Hiccup often looked out together toward the ocean waters. No sign of him there, either. Feeling more than slightly frustrated at this point, Astrid again wheeled around toward the village, when out of the corner of her eye she suddenly noticed a characteristic flash of black. A Night Fury.

_There he is._

Hiccup and Toothless raced frantically toward the village, the young man crouched low into the saddle to urge on a bit more speed. Stormfly, however, could fly more than quickly enough herself, and at Astrid's bidding soon rushed right alongside Toothless.

"Where have you been all day?" Astrid yelled. She hoped she could carry her voice above the sound of wind whipping in her ears.

Hiccup's body jerked. Glancing over, he exclaimed, "Astrid!" Apparently he had been so concentrated on reaching the village neither he nor Toothless had noticed Stormfly's presence at all.

"We missed you at the dragon racing game today. Why weren't you there?"

Astrid had to listen intently to understand Hiccup's shouted reply. "I was avoiding my dad!"

_Oh no. What happened now? _She would have to ask more later when they were in a more conducive setting for extensive conversation. Instead, she just called out, "And what are you doing now?"

"Trying to find my dad!"

"Well that makes sense!" she barked sarcastically, wondering if he even realized the contradiction of intention between his last two sentences.

He ignored that last remark. "Follow me!" he answered instead. "Both you and my dad have to hear this!"


	5. V Responsibilities

**V. **

No one ever struggled to find Stoick the Vast. No one. The enormous red-bearded giant stood over seven feet tall, stepped gallantly across the village like a majestic grizzly bear, and spoke with a confident and natural cadence which demanded respect. Though initially he appeared a fearsome and gruff warrior, the gray in his thick, well-groomed red beard attested to his years of astute leadership. Even simply standing in the center of the village near the smithy, Stoick was an easy and brilliant beacon to spot, and Hiccup and Astrid from the skies quickly located him and landed their dragons in the street. Immediately Toothless and Stormfly turned to one another, beginning a game of chase, while Astrid and Hiccup ran up toward the Hooligan chief.

Stoick glanced up from his conversation with Gobber the blacksmith. As soon as he noticed Hiccup approaching, his hairy face broke into a wide grin. "Here he is!" Stoick bellowed jubilantly. "Itching to tell me something?"

Hiccup cringed, remembering precisely why he had run away and avoided the dragon racing games earlier this morning. Trying to push aside that issue, Hiccup said, "Itching? Yes, but not for the reason you think."

"Just wait until we make the announcement to the entire village!" One of Stoick's beefy hands grabbed Hiccup's back and pulled his son along after him. Astrid, puzzled over the entire encounter, shadowed respectfully behind the two of them.

"Look Dad, we'll talk about this later, okay? I – I met a group of people when, when we were flying –"

"Nothing unusual there," Stoick said, only half paying heed to Hiccup's voice. He appeared too busy celebrating whatever announcement he planned to make to the village. His green eyes danced with anticipation of his own plans. "Now, the first rule of –"

Hiccup pulled away. "Dad, listen. This was different. These people – these people said there's this – this _Vigilante_ who's building a dragon army –"

"Dragon army?" Stoick asked, suddenly completely engaged in his son's words. He grabbed Hiccup roughly by the shoulders and stared the young man deeply into his eyes. Hiccup immediately felt uncomfortable. "You said," Stoick ascertained, chewing on each word as he spoke, "that this attacker was leading a dragon army?" Contrasting to the start of their conversation, Stoick now spoke in a low voice, hoping to avoid anyone overhearing them. His words came out as a near-ominous low rumble. Like thunder in the distance.

"Yes, that's what I said," Hiccup answered. Then he paused. Something in Stoick's intonation threw him off. "Wait. Do you _know_ this person? Or something?"

"Follow me," Stoick said. "We're going somewhere private."

Astrid glanced questioningly at Hiccup, and he shrugged. Now that Stoick had taken the wheel on the conversation, it appeared his girlfriend would have to wait and hear the news some other time. No other way to suddenly invite the young blonde woman into the conversation, not now that Stoick had demanded privacy. She watched as Hiccup was half-pushed, half-dragged up the hill to his father's house. The door slammed quickly shut, leaving the two alone.

The floor of their log-built house shuddered as Stoick marched across the room, heading toward the end of the building where the unlit fireplace, dinner table, and chairs rested. Hiccup followed wordlessly. Stoick leaned down and sat himself slowly, heavily, into his chair, then stared off into distant memories through thick, furrowed eyebrows. Hiccup lingered around the chief for a while before he spoke. "It was many years ago," he murmured, "so it could be a coincidence…"

"What is it, Dad?"

"Years ago there was a great gathering of chieftains. We were meeting together to discuss the dragon raids, which were becoming increasingly worse and threatening the livelihoods of many tribes. While we were there, a mysterious figure, covered head to toe in armor, face obscured by a mask, entered the building. She carried no weapons and spoke softly, barely above a whisper, and we had to lean in to hear her words."

Stoick sighed.

"She warned us that the dragons could not be overcome. That no matter how long and hard we fought them, we could never win. But she also said she could control them. She alone. She claimed she could separate the two worlds of Vikings and dragons, cutting the two species off from each other completely. She told us she alone could free us from the threat of the dragons, if we all stepped aside and followed her lead."

"That sounds completely crazy," Hiccup cut in, laughing nervously. "How would you manage that? Build a wall between the humans and dragons?"

"We laughed, too," Stoick said solemnly. No laughter etched the lines of his memory-scarred face now. "Not a single chief could believe that one person could manage to control all the dragons, let alone separate the two species completely. But then she turned around, headed to the door, and said, 'Then see how well you do without me.' Suddenly the roof top burst into flames and from it countless dragons descended, burning the whole to the ground." Stoick's eyes widened, and had he been standing, probably would have staggered and fallen back. "I – I was the only one to survive."

The house fell silent.

"If that is the same dragon rider," Stoick concluded, glancing up at his wide-eyed son, "then we must prepare for war."


	6. VI Responsibilities

**VI.**

"To think that I woke up this morning believing all was right with the world," Hiccup ranted off to Astrid, gesticulating expressively into the air. Astrid sat beside her boyfriend, feet tucked underneath her and resting in the grass, while he recounted the full day's events. Immediately following Stoick's private talk with Hiccup, boyfriend and girlfriend had retreated to a cliff side to speak to one another alone. "I wake up, the sun's shining, Terrible Terrors are singing from the rooftop. I saunter down to breakfast and then I get, 'Son, we need to talk.'"

Interrupting with a nasally voice, Astrid stated, "Not now, Dad, I got a whole day of goofing off to get started on."

Hiccup paused, staring, baffled, at Astrid as she wildly wiggled her shoulders. So much for complaining about his worries. She left him gaping with his mouth wide open and arm half-raised; and then he collapsed his shoulders, laughed at the impression of himself, and commented, "What? Okay… first of all, I – I don't sound like that."

Astrid raised her eyebrows and smirked.

"Who – what is this character? And – and second –" he waved his arm questioning toward Astrid "– what is that thing you're doing with my shoulders?"

Of course as soon as he asked that question, Astrid immediately began exaggeratedly jerking her shoulders up and down again. She moved only slightly less wildly than someone undergoing a seizure.

Hiccup, shaking his head, tried to avoid the distraction and return to the original purpose of their conversation. "Yeah, uh, that's a really flattering impersonation. Anyway." Hiccup squared his shoulders, straightened his back, and pulled his eyebrows down low over his eyes. Marching forward with exaggerated arm swings and a lengthened stride, he said, "He's like, 'You're the pride of Berk, son, and I couldn't be prouder.'"

"Ah, thanks, Dad, I'm pretty impressed with myself, too," Astrid interrupted once more, yet again waving around her arms expressively.

For a second time, her satirizing mimic stopped Hiccup from his narrative. Laughing despite himself, Hiccup exclaimed, "What? When have I ever done that with my hands?"

Astrid pointed to his waving arms and exclaimed, "You just did!"

"Oh," he groaned, and then kneeled down to look Astrid in the eyes and take her shoulders into his hands. He straightened her from her wild movements, exclaiming, "Just – hold – still!" He would never complete his narrative if she continued her teasing. "Very serious." He tried to tighten his face into a serious expression himself, but Astrid's teasing made his lips twitch up a little anyways. Astrid giggled a short time more but then acquiesced, nodding, allowing Hiccup to straighten himself up again and continue speaking. He yet again returned to mimicking Stoick.

"'You're all grown up, and since no chief could ask for a better successor, I have decided' –"

"To make you chief!" Astrid leaped up on her feet. "Oh my gods!" And she immediately punched him right in the gut in congratulations. Hiccup, unprepared for the physical contact, tumbled backward and fell on his rear. His girlfriend appeared not to notice, instead continuing to ramble, "What an honor! I'd be pretty excited!"

Hiccup fidgeted on the ground, focusing on a buckle from his breastplate and adjusting it needlessly. "I…" he fumbled for words. "I'm not like you." He said nothing more. Just continued brooding.

Sensing Hiccup's somberness, Astrid sat lightly beside him and held onto his arm. "That's why you avoided him this morning, isn't it?" she asked.

"Yeah." Both of them knew the answer to the question before Hiccup spoke, yet he provided her that succinct answer, anyhow.

"What did you say to him?"

"Uh, nothing. As soon as he had his back turned, I ran out the door. Have tried to stay out of Berk ever since."

"Until you met those men you were talking about earlier?" Astrid guessed, remembering how quickly Hiccup had flown home to Berk. She could think of no other explanation why Hiccup's actions would so quickly change from avoiding Stoick to seeking out the chief frantically. "I could hardly hear anything you said to your dad about what you saw. What was it you had to tell your dad and fly back to Berk so soon?"

He answered with only two words. "Dragon trappers."

"Oh no."

"Oh, that's not the worst of it," Hiccup answered with a wry grin. "I talked to them, and it sounds like the reason they're trapping dragons is, well, they – they're being attacked."

"Attacked?"

"By a dragon rider leading an entire dragon army against them."

"What?" Astrid launched to her feet for a second time, instantly poised for battle. Thankfully she had left her axe back in Stormfly saddle, else she might have drawn it then and there. "A dragon army?"

"That's what they said. Called this person 'The Vigilante.' The dragon trapper in charge – I think he said his name was Aaron? Eret? – warned us that the Vigilante could attack us, too."

"No wonder you had to talk to your father. What's he going to do about it?"

Hiccup sighed heavily. Looking up at Astrid, he answered, "Both too much and – and too little, if you ask me. He says he's preparing for war, and he's even barricading the village right as we speak, but he's not going to approach the dragon trappers at all. Says he met their chief once, had a bad impression with him, or something like that. I don't know. And he says we can't go after the Vigilante at all."

"Seems a little unlike him," Astrid mused. "He tried so hard to find the Red Death's nest back when the dragons were raiding us. It's hard to imagine your dad just _waiting_ around for an enemy to come to him rather than fighting that enemy off before Berk gets attacked."

"That's what I think, too." Irritated, Hiccup commented, "But that's what he's doing!" He threw his hands up in the air, and in the process whacked Astrid right in the face with his vambrace. Before she could punch him back – he could see her arms tensing, and even had he not, would have predicted such an action from his girlfriend – Hiccup jumped momentarily out of the serious conversation to excuse himself, "Just getting you back for knocking me over earlier."

"It's not my fault you're so imbalanced and always fall over!"

"It wasn't my fault your head was in the way right now!"

"And you really still don't believe me when I say you're always throwing your hands and shoulders everyone?"

"Alright, alright." Hiccup smiled and shook his head. "But in all seriousness" – he turned the conversation back to Stoick – "It might just be me, but I think my dad's hiding something. He told me that the Vigilante attacked a chief meeting years ago and killed most of the men there, but he seems to know… I don't know! Something more about this mysterious dragon rider than he's telling me."

"Maybe," Astrid said. "Though it sounds like he's told you enough about the Vigilante to prove we should stay away. Killed an entire gathering of chieftains? That's all _I_ need to know."

"Not me," Hiccup answered. "Think about it. Another dragon rider, Astrid. Outside of Berk."

She frowned, and with more than a little disapprobation etching her voice's intonation, responded, "Why do I have a bad feeling you're going to go after this dragon rider despite all the bad things you've heard?"

Hiccup once again grabbed both of Astrid's hands. "Here's the thing – I think we should talk to him first. Maybe he can be persuaded. We should at least try, shouldn't we?"

"You're going to do this no matter what I say, aren't you?" Astrid asked skeptically.

"Well…"

"Alright, fine." She clapped him heavily on the shoulder. "I'm in. When do we start flying?"


	7. VII Toothless Lost

**VII.**

The coastline flashed rapidly beneath Toothless' wings, pebbles and seashells and washed-ashore flotsam blurring into texture-less colored lines. The crisp waves of water hitting the shore were smudged into glittering streaks of white and pale blue, and the island's contour vanished into vague strokes. Hiccup, staring down from Toothless' back, pupils peering out from the eyeholes in his helmet, attentively scanned over every indistinct shape he and his dragon passed, hoping to catch a glimpse of the dragon trappers he encountered a few hours back.

The blue ice monolith, its sharp crystals ever-growing over the broken remains of the dragon trappers' fort, lingered unconcernedly behind them, not a single human being resting their feet on its mass. Hiccup and Astrid could only guess Eret and his dragon trappers had left the area by ship a few hours back, yet with no clue to the men's sailing direction, the young couple could only hope they flew toward – rather than away from – their quarry.

Increasingly blots of white supplemented the coastline, and the air, while naturally chilly in the skies, cooled to a particularly bitter, frosty bite. Astrid pulled up the fur-lined hood of her cloak, while Hiccup crouched lower into the saddle to rely on Toothless' warmth. The entire landscape transformed into a world of floating ice caps and stark, towering, snowy cliffs. Even the water from the ocean paled its colors, exchanging its typical deep dark blue hue for a cloudy, gray surface.

Still they encountered no signs of human life.

_We might have flown in the wrong direction._

There was no point in turning back now, however, and starting anew in a different flight direction. They would not be able to overtake a ship if they continuously switched their course.

_We just have to keep going and hope we somehow spot them._

Hiccup and Astrid possibly could have searched for the Vigilante in other ways. However, what came immediately to mind for both of them was seeking out Eret, asking him for any information about the Vigilante's location, and then searching for the dragon rider on their own from there. Otherwise, they would have no leads on tracing the Vigilante, and would have to blindly scour the archipelago of neighboring islands.

A voice in the wind jerked Hiccup's attention away from the sea and toward Astrid. "Look!" she shouted, pointing to a cluster of ice floes. "I think that's a ship!"

Man-sized ice chunks, looking like shards of pottery from the distance, rested lightly on the motionless sea. Periodically small round snowy rock lumps protruded from the waters. Bobbing up and down in the middle of the ice and islands, a small, two-sailed ship loitered, almost as though clueless of where to turn. Astrid and Hiccup could identify the distant specks of humans running around on deck, and they could hear the distant shouts – though not the words – of the men on board.

"That's them," Hiccup announced, crouching down and urging Toothless forward.

"You can tell from back here?" Astrid questioned.

"That symbol on the sail," Hiccup pointed. "I think I remember seeing that with the dragon trappers."

"Alright then." That evidence satisfied Astrid, for she pulled her hood back, and with a smile, hurtled Stormfly straight for the gray ship. One instant Astrid flew beside Hiccup, and the next, he saw but a tail of thorns thrashing in the wind as Astrid catapulted down toward the unsuspecting sailors. Before Hiccup could shout out warning, nets shot into the sky.

The world turned into a whirlpool as Toothless somersaulted. Both he and Stormfly managed to evade the first round of nets, as Hiccup noticed once the world righted and he could again distinguish the form of Astrid's dragon flying before him. They were still a distance from the ship, though – more than enough time for the trappers to send another volley of traps.

"Don't shoot!" Hiccup shouted out. Whether or not the dragon trappers heard them, no more nets were fired. Both dragons swooped down and boarded the ship, their weight tipping it slightly to port.

Eret son of Eret stood in the center of the port, his light brown eyes gaping at the two dragons aboard his ship – almost as though the dragon trapper had never before laid eyes on a living dragon. The other men fidgeted uneasily behind him.

"I thought we agreed to be friendly with each other?" Hiccup asked casually as he dismounted Toothless. He noticed Astrid holding an axe and waved impatiently with one hand for her to put it down and out of sight. She frowned but complied.

Eret gracelessly and rather uneasily scrubbed his hands through his hair. He attempted to cover his initial awkward reaction but failed. "Of course," he said. "You just surprised us, that's all, and we don't… tend to trust dragons." His eyes wandered over to Stormfly. The thick-scaled blue dragon preened herself, sharp-tipped lips rubbing up against her left wing, head bobbing up and down much as one would expect of a bird. It was a casual enough gesture. However, while Stormfly's body language clearly indicated the dragon felt comfortable and unthreatened, Eret slowly inched away from her. Due to the cold weather, one could see the nervous puffs of breaths trailing heavily out of Eret's mouth.

That man was a bizarre combination of pompous self-confidence and blustering gawkiness. One moment he bragged of being the greatest dragon trapper, the next, he stared wide-eyed at a tamed preening dragon aboard his ship.

There had to be some consistency to that man somewhere.

Hiccup waved a hand toward Stormfly and then toward Toothless, now standing on the other side of the ship for balance. "Dragons don't have to be enemies," he pointed out. "Once they see you as one of their own, even the testiest dragons can be trained. Right, bud?"

Toothless' lips strained into an awkward gummy smile. Yet even that seemed to intimidate Eret.

Turning his attention back toward Hiccup and pretending he never felt uncomfortable, Eret questioned, "What are you doing here? Back so soon?" By the final comment, his voice had again taken on the resonating cockiness Hiccup remembered from their previous encounter.

Cheerfully, Hiccup affirmed, "Back so soon indeed!"

"Did you talk to your chief already then? About the dragon rider?"

"We did, and we're preparing for the worst."

"Those preparations don't happen to include giving us a little of a hand, do they?"

Hiccup paused, mouth slightly ajar, before answering. He said, "No. I'm afraid not. But – but that doesn't mean we aren't concerned, it's just –"

"That's fine, that's fine," Eret said, but they could tell he was fretting. Though he attempted to maintain a calm, proud demeanor in front of the two Berk Vikings, they could still hear him mutter under his breath, "We've got no way to protect ourselves, and no heads to call our own!"

"Look, _I_ still want to help you completely," Hiccup remarked. "And that is _exactly_ why we are here."

"What game are you playing?"

"Hey, no game, we just want to meet the Vigilante."

Hiccup's casual remark brought an explosion aboard deck. Even amongst the cacophony, distinct emotions slipped out. "The Vigilante –?" Shocked wonder. "Did you hear that?" Puzzlement. Curiosity. "Meet him?" Suspicion.

Eret asked the one question that danced the most aboard the vessel. "Meet the Vigilante? Why?" His words were suddenly as cold as the ice floating off deck.

_If I spoke a word in support of the Vigilante, Eret threatened to harm me,_ Hiccup suddenly recalled.

Keeping an outward calm, Hiccup answered, "Because I can change her mind about dragons. I can change yours."

"Her?" Eret narrowed his eyes. "Then you _do_ know something about the dragon rider! Lying to us earlier, were you?"

"No, no, not at all, not at all. When I spoke to my d- the chief – he said he had come across the rider before in a chief's meeting. It's in part why he believed your warning and is preparing defenses."

"And yet giving no support to us? If we worked together, we –"

"Again, that's what I'm trying to do. My part in working together is to the Vigilante. To try to change her mind."

Eret scoffed, "There's no way you're changing the rider's mind!" From behind him, the murmuring affirmations of other Vikings traveled around deck.

"He can be very persuasive," Astrid remarked from Hiccup's side.

"I can do it now," Hiccup agreed, nodding up at Eret, "once I know where to meet up with her. We came to ask if you knew the best place to look for the Vigilante."

"Eret," a short man with a long chin next to Eret piped up warningly. When the taller Viking provided no immediate response, he prodded again, much louder, "Eret!" Brown eyes glared from under a heavily-creased brow. Eret's eyes followed his companion's pointed finger toward a low-lying gray cloud of smoke settled on the waters.

"What?"

That cloud appeared to be morphing shape rather quickly.

"Those – those are dragons."

Eret only squinted for a short while before shouting out orders for battle stations. Suddenly Hiccup and Astrid were the only still points on the ship; everything else – from men to ropes to sails to catapults – was repositioned; and shouts rose up; and the mood in the air darkened from tense to terrified. The mass of dragons coalesced from the sea, and they could see now a hoard rapidly approaching with the intent to kill.

"Fight with us or run!" Eret shouted out. "Either way, make up your mind quickly! There won't be any way you could escape them soon!"

Astrid pulled out her axe as response. "Toothless, get ready!" Hiccup shouted out, charging up and mounting his dragon. He had but time to pull out his sword and light it before the swarm fell upon them.

A hoard of gnats could not descend so thickly. And instead of a buzz, they heard one, loud, bellowing roar.

The command to attack.


	8. VIII Toothless Lost

**VIII.**

Dragons.

She thought her fear of dragons had long since faded. The terror of the attack; the frantic charge through a burning village, hoping solely to survive; the roars of Vikings and dragons in combat; the panicked midnight hustle to salvage a few houses in the village – that past had all but faded. Five years of peaceful coexistence with the dragons dissolved childhood memories of children crying in their parents' arms, staring out at their homes' charred ruins. The smell of smoke, faded. The taste of blood, faded. The sensation of a burning inferno, faded.

Until now.

That fear of dragons returned instantly as the swarm descended.

Pumping wings, unblinking eyes, wide-opened, fang-filled jaws. Screeches and snarls and roars and howls. Sudden pillars of fire. Heated lava rocks. A sail catching on fire. The screams of desperate men.

The years of the dragon raids returned vividly in her mind.

It was time to live it again. Time to fight.

Her heart pounded with adrenaline as she held up her axe, the familiar weight of its head waiting to hack at death.

Perhaps "fear" was the incorrect word to use. Antagonism. Her antagonism against the dragons. For "fear" had never controlled her. And indeed in some ways it would almost be a thrill for her to fight again, to call upon what had always been her strength – to fight as a warrior.

She threw up her axe with a determined shout.

The axe struck flesh.

Indignant roars pursued Astrid and Stormfly as they wheeled through the sky, jostling into other dragons – though the one beast she injured, an angry wart-covered purple brute, somehow surged through all the bodies and snapped at Stormfly's tail, seeking out revenge for the axe wound. Spine shots pushed it back; Astrid and Stormfly wheeled around, and the Viking woman's axe struck again. Jaws snapped at the axe and grabbed a hold of its handle. Astrid found herself nearly pulled from the saddle as the dragon yanked on her weapon, dragging her along, too, staring her straight in the eye. Black slits glared out from each of the dragon's eyes.

"Oh, you're not taking that axe from me," Astrid growled. She jumped off Stormfly's saddle completely and planted both her boots with full force into the assailant dragon's face. With one hard yank she managed to pry the axe from its jaws, and she flipped around again, jumping down to Stormfly. The Nadder caught her, and the two again shot off.

They suddenly burst from the cloud of dragons. The creatures swarmed so thickly around Eret's ship Astrid could see no sign of the vessel itself; only the occasional bright flash of burning arrows shooting from a central source indicated any humans fought in the mass itself. For a brief instant, the streak of a fire sword whipped through the dragons, but the form of a charging beast engulfed it an instant later. Then one dragon shot out from the main mass, headed straight toward Astrid, and she could make no further observations. She fell into the flurry of combat. She and the axe spun as one and Stormfly added fire to the fury. Their assailant raced off at twice the speed at which he had attacked.

Astrid and Stormfly shot once more into the center of the mayhem, tail and claws and axe and teeth and fire and metal blindly striking at anything and everything. They spun upward, shooting through layers of dragons.

And were halted by an enormous four-winged form.

Looming above, owl eyes focused intently on them, hovered a peach and orange colored dragon, at least three times the size of Stormfly. On its back stood an armored rider.

"The dragon rider!" Astrid exclaimed with her breath caught in her throat. Holding onto her axe firmly with one hand and placing the other on her own dragon's neck, she whispered, "Come on Stormfly! Let's get 'em!"

As the Deadly Nadder rose vertically into the skies, wings pumping forcefully, Astrid calculated the time it would take for them to rise and meet…

The armored figured hurled off her own dragon, plummeted feet first down from the skies, and landed on Stormfly's back, facing Astrid with a sharp-ended staff. And swung it.

Reflex more than skill prevented Astrid from flying out the saddle. The young Viking threw her axe handle up desperately against the rider's staff, shoulders straining against the other woman's strength. None of the weight she threw against her axe appeared to disturb her assaulter. The armored fighter lightly spun around, sliding down Stormfly's back, taking no mind at all the Nadder flew nearly perpendicular to the ground. Astrid heard more than saw the warrior clout Stormfly's wings twice, one for each limb, and then rush off the dragon and skydive downward. She barely had time to gasp before she realized Stormfly, too, was plunging downward.

The mast of a ship nearly impaled Astrid's head. She flung herself tight against Stormfly's saddle and braced for impact. The dragon crashed against the deck of Eret's ship, somehow not completely breaking through the wood on deck.

_How did that rider disable Stormfly's wings?_

Terrified for her dragon, Astrid jumped out of the saddle to investigate the Nadder's wings. "Hang on, girl, let me see!"

From above she heard a startled, high-pitched tenor shout.

_Hiccup._

The swing of a staff from above. _That dragon rider jumped from one dragon to another?_

A flaming blade plunged to the deck.

"Hiccup!" Astrid shouted. And through the mass of fighting beasts she could see Toothless' distinct black shape being carried away by a four-winged dragon.


	9. IX Return to Berk

**IX.**

"What do you think you are doing, you filthy half-troll coward? You _have_ to turn around," she demanded, voice bordering on a screech. Astrid's boots heavily thumped across deck as she confronted Eret, yanking the fur pelt draped across his shoulders and forcing his face into her icy blue-eyed stare. Though well over half a foot taller than her, Eret shrunk back – or would have, did Astrid not pin him against the wheel of the ship. Knobs from the helm dug uncomfortably into his back, yet he hardly noticed those under her piercing stare.

"We can't go back, don't you see?" he protested. Eret futilely tried to free himself from Astrid's grip. That only resulted in spinning the steer to the left and jerking the boat cumbersomely toward a floe of ice. Hands awkwardly reaching behind him, he hastily corrected the vessel, all the while incapable of leaving Astrid's scowl or freeing his back from where he was pinned. "The Vigilante takes no captives. We never see the face of anyone he - she - takes again – she kills everyone she captures."

With every word, Astrid jerked Eret forward and then pounded him back against the steering wheel. "Then. all. the. more. reason. to. rescue. him. before. that. happens."

Eret gasped, "Look, you don't get it, do you?"

"I think I get it," she hissed. "You're abandoning someone to save your own neck."

"Oh? And what if we went after her? What would we do? Get attacked and burned up by the dragons again? We're lucky enough to escape with the ship only _half_ burnt!"

Astrid's eyes reluctantly left Eret to survey the ship's damage. One sail barely held its own in the wind, coloration more black than gray, while the other flax cloth sported tears, holes, and spots of fire damage itself. Half the railing on the ship's port side had been shred apart by a reckless dragon, while the deck area on which Stormfly crashed was highly splintered and sagging so greatly sailors stepped around the location, fearing they would elsewise break through the flooring and fall. Countless areas were charred. Most of the weaponry on deck was ruined. A number of ropes had been damaged beyond repair, though thankfully spares had been brought up from the lower levels of the ship and replaced. Their ship may have been seaworthy still, yet she floated through the ocean waters with a painful limp.

Astrid hated to acknowledge Eret's logic on the topic. There would be no way their ship in this shape could survive another beating from the Vigilante's dragons. Still, refusing to agree with Eret aloud, she retorted, "Say whatever excuses you want. I'd be flying off on Stormfly right now if her wings weren't injured."

"Look, I am very, _very_ sorry about your friend," Eret said. "He always seemed like a good man. And I've seen more than my fair share of fellow soldiers taken by the Vigilante as well. I wish we could do something about it, but –"

"Well, we can, if you would just listen to me." It was a wonder Astrid's snarl had not bitten off Eret's nose yet. It probably would – intentionally – if he raised his voice in another protest.

"I'm listening, I just don't like your ideas."

Astrid pulled back her fist to punch Eret in the face, but then paused, lowering it only with extreme reluctance. Her voice remained completely hostile, however. "If you're not going to let me steer this ship after him, the least you could do is take me back to my village, talk to my chief, and get him and all of Berk to go after the rider."

"Look, that's exactly what your friend wanted to do. But he said the chief wouldn't listen."

Astrid, tersely, snapped, "Well, he's going to listen now that his son is kidnapped."

"Wait, that guy is the chief's _son_?" Eret blinked in disbelief. He almost choked on the final word of his sentence.

"Hey look, you can listen to me." Astrid released Eret suddenly, and he dropped flaccidly down to the flooring of the ship like a boneless fish. She thumped her axe firmly against the deck. "So take me to Berk. Now."

Eret hastily asked her to point the way and turned the ship starboard to correct their course. He hated the fact he could hear her murmur, satisfied, under her breath, "Works every time."


	10. X Return to Berk

**X.**

Hoards of humans and dragons amassed in the underground bunker like stirred-up ants, everyone running everywhere without any seemly intentional direction, and certainly void of any order. Somehow the enormous size of the cavern directly beneath Berk could not support the number of human and Vikings hurriedly entering. The main doors were even worse.

The ever-clogged entrance to the cave was a large, well-bolstered building which hung over one of Berk's many steep cliff sides, not far from the village, located just above the docks. Those docks were empty now of human life, everyone scurrying indoors to lock their dragons up safely in pens or attics, to secure their possessions, to stand on the lookout for danger. More crashed into each other's helmets than succeeded at their errands. And even the dragons had become riled up. Deadly Nadders snapped testily at Vikings' hands, Monstrous Nightmares agitatedly set fire to the beards of a few unlucky men and women, and even the laid-back Gronckles bumbled restlessly, eyes widened with worry. Though few – humans or dragons – understood precisely what was occurring now, one fact remained clear: the chief wanted to be prepared for war.

Stoick the Vast himself clambered through the crowd of wildly scrambling Hairy Hooligans, Gobber the Belch blundering along after him like a one-legged battering ram. "Where's Hiccup? Has anyone seen Hiccup?" Stoick asked intently, while Gobber followed up the rear apologizing to every individual he or the chief inadvertently knocked off their feet.

"Stoick," Gobber said, reaching Stoick and clasping the chief on the shoulder with a meaty hand. Stoick turned around. Gobber continued, "We would have found Hiccup by now if he were in the village. He's got to be out elsewhere on the island."

Stoick blew out his mustaches, frustrated, and said, "I haven't seen that boy since he first mentioned the Vigilante. I saw him charge off on Toothless the second I ordered the village secured. Don't you think he should have been back by now?"

"I don't know, Stoick. Perhaps he didn't like what you had to say?"

Stoick glared at Gobber, who only shrugged meekly in return.

"Of all the irresponsible –"

"He's twenty years old and a Viking," Gobber pointed out. At the same time, he ducked underneath a spray of fire from a roused up Monstrous Nightmare being led by an equally agitated middle aged Viking man. Then, turning back to Stoick, he concluded, "Couldn't be a worse combination."

"Well, I can't shut the gates until everyone and everyone's dragon is here," Stoick remarked. At least, the chief would be reluctant to do so. "Come with me. We'll sweep through the village one more time, and if that fails, grab Skullcrusher and Grump for a flight around the island."

The two Hooligans exited the bunker and looked out over the ocean spanning infinitely beyond them. Hugging alongside the steep rocky cliff, a seemingly rickety but actually rather sturdy, winding wooden plank path led downward toward the harbor. The further down Stoick and Gobber walked, the slipperier the surface became, high-rising ocean waves splashing onto the wood and even sloshing puddles onto the pathway. Though it was not the quickest route back toward the village proper, it was one Gobber and Stoick had not yet thoroughly checked for the chief's son and his dragon. Why Hiccup and Toothless would stow away here would be beyond either of them, but then again, the mind of those two often confounded the most knowledgeable in their Viking society.

As they walked, Gobber tried to pipe them up into conversation. "Regarding your chat to Hiccup about the, er, dragon rider," Gobber commented, his voice taking on a wary tinge, "how much precisely did you tell him?"

"Everything he needed to know," Stoick answered gruffly.

"Which would be…?"

"She's dangerous, has killed a lot of men, and he needs to stay away from her."

Gobber snorted. "You should know by now if you give him that little of information, the _first_ thing he's going to do is run toward the danger."

"Well, I wasn't going to tell him anything more," the chief answered gruffly. The intonation in his voice clearly suggested he wished to steer away from this conversation now. He himself steered his body away from Gobber, concentrating on a small series of wooden steps beneath his feet rather than his nervously gesturing companion.

However, Gobber, still dancing gently around the topic, pointed out, "But if she's really out there endangering Berk, I don't think you can hide the truth from him forever. If Hiccup's out there, Stoick, he's going to find out."

No answer.

"Better to hear it from his father first, wouldn't you say?"

Stoick stomped heavily on a stray sea shell, shattered it to pieces, and ended the conversation. The two of them continued forward, eyes scanning every direction for a sign of an armored young man and his black dragon. Gobber especially made sure to look anywhere but at Stoick the Vast. A storm cloud pouring torrents of water and shooting spears of lightning would have sported a better disposition than the chief of Berk, and probably be safer to approach.

"Hey Stoick," he said slowly, blonde unibrow furrowing as he stared out to sea, "that's not one of our ships, is it?"

"No it's not." Instinctively, Stoick's hand reached down to his left hip and slightly eased the sword from its scabbard.

As they clambered down to investigate, the ship turned in to the harbor and settled alongside the docks. Her once-green flax sails were so tattered and blackened from apparent fire damage that the patterns sewn on the cloth were indistinguishable, and she boasted a rather impressive hole gaping just a few meters above the water line. The ship's most impressive feature was staying afloat. The injured vessel bobbed hazardously in the calm waters of the harbor; how she had fought through tougher, open waters to arrive here, neither Stoick nor Gobber could have ventured a rational guess.

In the center of the deck, surrounded by war-wearied men slowly working, slept a sky blue Nadder.

"That's Stormfly!"

As if on cue, Astrid leapt lightly from the rail of the ship and landed on the docks. The rest of the men on board, still anchoring and securing the ship, glared down at her. She never noticed. An expression of intent consumed Astrid's face as she stepped forward to greet the chief and his companion. She did not even realize a ponytailed young man threw himself off deck and scrambled up behind her; and he might well as have not existed, for the chief first spoke to his fellow Hooligan and not the man behind her.

"Astrid, what are these people doing –"

Astrid did not wait for Stoick to finish, instead interrupting him, "Sir, we need to fly out a patrol of dragons _now_. We ran into the Vigilante."

Her leader's green eyes hardened as soon as she mentioned the dragon rider. "How far?" he asked. Then, glancing up at the sailors rigging the ship to the docks, and now taking in details of the tall, brown eyed gentleman impatiently shadowing Astrid, Stoick inquired suspiciously, "Are these the dragon trappers Hiccup met earlier?"

"I'm right here," the man piped up indignantly. "You can address me directly."

"What are they doing here? Did you and my son go speak to them?"

At this second snub of being indirectly addressed, the man crossed his arms and frowned at the chief.

"Uh," Astrid began awkwardly, but before she could voice anything intelligible, Stoick followed up with one final question.

"And speaking of. Where _is_ Hiccup?"

Astrid did not speak, but she did answer. Slowly. She bent her head forward, braid falling half in her face, as she reached down into the small tan satchel tied around her waist. Out from the pack she pulled a dark, cylindrical metal object about twice the length of her hand and just thick enough to be comfortably held. One of its nubs ended in the gaping mouth of a dragon. The hilt to Hiccup's sword Inferno.

She handed it out to Stoick. Both his hands reached out to take it, delicately, from hers. Their eyes met.

Stoick only briefly tore his gaze away from Astrid and his son's sword, nodding solemnly up toward the rest of the dragon trappers who had finally finished securing the ship to the dock. "Bring them with us. Yes, you, come with me." He finally made contact with the man behind Astrid, gesturing for all three of them to follow him toward the village proper. "It looks like we all have a lot of catching up to do and a rescue to plan fast."


	11. XI Should I Know You?

**XI.**

Darkness. Taste of blood. Darkness.

Awake. Wind on cheeks. Fluttering eyelids. Painful lights, irises seared. Darkness.

Awake. Open eyes. Squint. Bright white world. Too bright. Sharp whiteness drilling tunnels into pupils. Squint. Damp, sweat-soaked forehead. Something whimpered. Darkness.

Awake. The sensation of legs dangling midair. Shoulders squeezed tight by a painful overhead grip. Open eyes, stare downward, see foot and prosthetic floating far above the surface of a great blue blur. Look upward. Two dragons, or one, four feet, or two, vision departing and coalescing and diverging again. Dizziness. Squeeze eyes tight shut, shake head, try to clear a numbness that crushed the skull from every angle. Look upward again. Double vision cleared. Dragon talons clinging onto shoulders, one foot for each arm. Secure. Will not fall in this journey. Darkness.

Awake. The sound of ice chunks ramming up one against the other, as though challenging the other floe to a dominance battle. The call of Terrible Terrors or some other small species. Dragons, dragons everywhere, above, below, behind, before, an enormous cluster all migrating together toward a spiky prism in the distance. Eyes strain, seek to focus. Dragon shapes waver. Something familiar… its color… form… cannot identify the feature with sluggish thoughts. Large black shape ahead, hanging limp, long black and red string dangling inanimately downward.

_Should… be… concerned…_

Feel that wetness on the forehead again. When lean downward, watch a colloidal scarlet raindrop slip over eyelids and nose-dive toward the earth. A second small droplet falls afterward, leaking from the same location. Dulled but aching skull. Must have head injury.

Darkness.

Awake. No longer flying, the first observation. Second: head resting on moss, eyes pointed upward to a stiff, rising, rock cliff. More moss climbed up the slopes; no other living creature would be able to scale it. A sense of coolness in the air, moisture, humidity. But temperature overall comfortable. Still feeling nauseated, though by now vision had settled and was only slightly blurry, providing sufficient detail to the threadlike miniature stems and bumpy textures of the moss around him. Feel something in the stomach – hunger. A rumble. Groan. Try to shift weight. Lying on back on uncomfortable ground, rocks digging into side. While readjusting position, notice a ripe, well-washed fruit resting within arm's reach.

No sight of anything large and black. _Where's Toothless?_ Weakly grab at apple, take a bite, resolve to endlessly search for the dragon. While still holding apple in one hand, try to stand. Immediately dizzy. World spins, colors fade. About to faint. Sit back down. Drowsiness overpowers the eyes, and darkness formed. Right before shutting eyes, see the upright silhouette of an armored human approaching.

Awake. He immediately noticed – to his relief – the shape of a black dragon hunched in corner, body pressed up against the ledge, so far as he could tell completely unharmed. To his other side sat a brown and white haired woman, eyes lightly crinkled in the early signs of middle age. Between the two new arrivals, only the woman was awake; the dragon, back half-plastered against the cliff side, inhaled and exhaled the familiar, slow breaths of slumber.

The woman held up a hand containing graceful but heavily calloused fingers, then reached up toward his chin. _What is she doing?_ Stupefied, he watched her arm pause mid-air before her fingernails lightly swiped his skin, and as soon as she did so, murmured something indistinct, perhaps, "Could it be?" She followed the self-directed question with a subsequent self-directed comment, still at low volumes. Something about the passing of many years.

He still felt groggy, yet he believed he felt awake enough to finally confront and puzzle out his indistinct memories of the past – he paused – however long it had been since the dragon attack.

He decided to begin by croaking out a simple three word question. "Who are you?"

White-teethed smile. No spoken words. She continued to stare, not making direct eye contact, but fastened to a point just below his pupils. Her eyebrows scrunched up, puzzled, as she examined some apparently peculiar observation.

Slow thoughts finally concurred, _Must be the scar on my chin._

_ But it's not _that_ interesting or unusual._

The woman's eyes were green and stared with the intensity of a cat or a Strike Class dragon. Yet while initially something about them seemed curious or open, a hardness also lingered inside, an animalistic wariness, always on poise for some attack. And there something else… something else in the eyes, too. Bafflement, perhaps. Maybe even… wonder.

_Something doesn't add up._

_ What are you rambling about, Hiccup? Nothing adds up. What is going on? What am I doing here? Where even _is_ here?_

He tried to sit up, groaned as lower back muscles refused to flex, cringed his shoulders and pulled up equally stiff arms. He must not have been dazed or unconscious for too long if his muscles still ached from the battle in the skies – at the most, he estimated, a day out of commission. Still, that hardly explained what was happening now. He slowly, stiffly, agonizingly positioned himself cross-legged, right across from this dragon rider, two pairs of green eyes staring one at the other.

"Who are you?" he tried asking again. "The dragon rider? The Vigilante?" When the sharp-jawed woman once more failed to provide a response, even with those suggested prompts, he tersely followed up with another second question: "Do you even understand what I'm saying?"

Still she said nothing, shirked away.

"Thank you so much for answering all my questions so thoroughly," Hiccup bit sarcastically as she continued backing up. "No really, you're _quite_ the engaging conversationalist." And then she turned to run off out of sight. She looked more like a dragon scuttling away than a human being. Grumbling under his breath, Hiccup tried once more to stand so he could follow after her, but his head yet again nauseously swam. Stars and swirling colors greeted his vision. There would be no way he could catch up in his current state of dizziness.

He threw himself back to the ground with frustration. Nothing to do now but try to sleep. Hopefully by morning his concussion – he assumed that was what his head injury was, or something like it – would be settled enough that he could pursue after the strange woman and demand some answers to his questions. If this woman truly were the Vigilante, the armored figure who captured Toothless and him in the sky, then they _needed_ to speak in depth.

And though the world faded yet once more into darkness, his ears still remained sharp, and he could hear the low hum of a woman's voice echoing from somewhere on the cliff side. Though he did not recognize the tune, its gentle, rising-falling melody sounded precisely like a lullaby.


	12. XII Should I Know You?

**XII. **

Morning commenced with the squawk of dragons.

Thousands of dragons.

Low throated bellows of Snub-Nosed Hellsteethers collided with the ever-changing parroting caws of Flamehuffers mixed with the groggy grumble of waking Monstrous Nightmares blended with the tiny insect-like buzz of several species of Nanodragons mingled with the croon of Hobblegrunts overpowered by the squawks of Deadly Nadders harmonized by the snores of Hotburples contrasted by the screech of Typhoomerangs. Not for an instant did the noise lull. Constantly, some new draconic conversation would arise, be it the squeal of babies eagerly begging for breakfast or the dissatisfied growl of two elder dragons expressing irritation of the other's presence. From the left sounded several Grapple Grounders in chorus – to the right and further above, the friendly, familiar yap of Basic Browns. So packed were the noises of dragons that not another stray sound would ever be heard; even the screams and shouts of thousands of men would die unheard beneath the ever-present roar. There were dragons, and they were all that were.

This utter cacophony created an unmistakable audial backdrop to an even more overwhelming view.

Hiccup stepped forward to the edge of the cliff and stared as multi-colored flocks of dragons circled through the air as one. They swarmed like interspecies schools of fish over every open space in the air, settled comfortably in any nook and cranny on the cliff sides around him. And even the natural scenery beyond the dragons was breathtaking, the strange contrast between the warm sauna waters below, birthing foliage and moss and a few green-leafed trees, and the crystalline, green-blue icy peaks shooting mountains above even the highest-flying dragons. He stood atop one flat cliff ledge intermediary between the humid, warm waters below and the cold icy cliffs above. It was an enormous space, a shelter, complete with an icy, jagged roof, but with such an expansive ceiling it appeared almost as though the dragons were looping through open skies.

The entire place in a word: breathtaking.

He turned his attention to further along the cliff, where a cluster of roosting Raincutter stared at him, curiously, heads tilting attentive to the side. After taking a deep breath, Hiccup slowly approached. He instinctively reached for his right side where he stowed the hilt of his sword Inferno, yet he touched only empty straps. Vaguely he remembered the Vigilante disarming him during the battle. He must have dropped and lost the sword then. A big loss. But he could still work here. The flames from the sword would have quickly soothed the long-faced Raincutters before him, but he still very well knew how to safely approach a dragon without Inferno, too.

He slowly reached out his hand to the nearest gray-green dragon. Though he tried not to stare directly at the creature – that could make him appear threatening, after all – Hiccup noticed from the corner of his eye that the Raincutter sported a large number of scars and scabs along its muzzle. Wounds from the recent fight at Eret's ship? Hiccup subconsciously touched his forehead, which sported a scab of his own, and reminded himself that he had pretty poorly treated and regarded his own injuries, minor as they were. He should have had more sense than that.

_Well, I was dazed enough not to be thinking well,_ he thought as he waited for the Raincutter to step forward and press its nose into his hand. _At least this morning I only have a small headache and can think clearly again._

The Raincutter sniffed his palm. Hiccup did not see it approach, what with his head turned away; but the sound of small snuffles plus the sense of warm exhaling breath on his hand was unmistakable.

The dragon sniffed for a moment more, but then slowly retreated.

Hiccup frowned.

He turned around.

There again stood that strange woman, a few meters away, hands holding onto a long hand-carved staff. Though she crouched like a wary animal, one hand lightly touching the ground with a few fingers, he could tell she would be rather tall upright. Her eyes, though, caught his attention most. As during their first meeting, her pupils remained focused intently on him every instance, never once straying away, perhaps not even blinking as often as they should.

"Uh, hi again," he stammered awkwardly.

Then, for the first time, he heard her speaking voice.

"You shouldn't be here," she said. It was not even a threat, just a hostile statement of fact.

Hiccup glanced around once more at the awe-inspiring location. After waking up in the morning and finding himself alone with Toothless, he and his dragon had stepped forward to explore a bit more of the strange world they landed in, and had come to the edge of this cliff to spy the mass of dragons circling through the center of the ice sanctuary. They had traveled through several rock-littered caves before arriving at the heart of the enormous shelter. Toothless right now was watching nearby, ready to rush up did the stranger make one adverse move.

"If you're the Vigilante," Hiccup said, "then you took me here."

"Not to the middle of the fortress."

"I wasn't just going to stay lying there on that other cliff," Hiccup pointed out. "I wanted to find you. To talk to you."

"What would the son of Stoick the Vast want with me?" she asked. Though her voice remained mostly neutral, Hiccup thought he detected some sort of scathing edge to the final words in her question.

Hiccup frowned. "What – what did you say?" _She knows who I am? _"Should I know you?"

Her eyes finally left Hiccup to look down at her feet, but only for a short moment. Then they were back, fixedly staring at his face as before. "No," she said. That one word. Her mouth worked, almost as though she would follow it with some other comment, but ultimately closed her jaw and left Hiccup with that unsatisfying, too-short answer.

"Okay," he said, when he finally realized she would say no more. "Thank you for that… information."

She took his snide remark in stride. She appeared not to care she increasingly discomfited him, or elsewise was carrying through with a plan to intentionally disarm him. "Many people know the identity of the chiefs and their sons," she said as simple explanation, "even those of who choose not to be a member of Viking society.

"Now I have a reason to speak to you just as you say you need to speak to me." She straightened her back some to saunter forward to Hiccup, but still somehow appeared to walk more like a dragon than a human. That rolling footstep was more of a Stormcutter's than a Viking's. "And because of that, I took you here."

_So she is the Vigilante._

"We need to speak alone –" and she paused "– regarding the future of the dragons."


	13. XIII Meet Drago

**XIII.  
**  
"This is so stupid," Snotlout determined.

The broad shouldered teenager leaned his back up against the rail of _The Sparrowhawk_, thick arms crossed over his body and scowl pulling down his lightly-haired upper lip. "Why are we riding on ships when we could just fly there on dragons? Wouldn't that be five times faster?"

"In ordinary circumstances, yes, it would, Snotlout," Astrid answered tersely. Even under pleasanter conditions, she found Snotlout's presence trying; now, she found him absolutely intolerable. She clutched the wood rail aboard the ship tightly to try to prevent herself from grabbing Snotlout's gray fur coat and hurling the short young man overboard. If dunking Snotlout into the sea would not have slowed the mission, she would have done so in a heartbeat.

"Chief Stoick explained right before we left exactly why we aren't on our dragons," Fishlegs reminded Snotlout. "Right after we meet up with this 'Drago', we're sailing straight toward the Vigilante's fortress. If Drago agrees to help, then we'll go together, but if not, we're still going after Hiccup right away. There isn't any time to lose, after all! That means we're likely to get spotted by the Vigilante as we approach her fortress, but it would be much more dangerous if we got spotted riding dragons. At least on boats we look exactly like any other Viking fleet – and hopefully non-threatening. On dragons, well, we don't know what she would do. She might try to take us like we did Hiccup, and even if not, we'd lose our element of surprise when –"

"We wouldn't have to do this if only a _few_ dragons flew into her fortress thing and tried to sneak in to save Hiccup."

"The Vigilante's fortress is said to be impenetrable," Fishlegs answered promptly, but in a tense whisper. He continued rattling off words at a lightning pace. "I've been talking to some of those dragon trappers, and they said no one has ever made it out alive. Stoick will definitely try to fly in stealthily first, but it's expected that we're going to have to attack by force. _Meaning_ we need a lot of ships from the get-go."

"Alright, alright, I get it," Snotlout protested, waving his hands to shush Fishlegs before the husky Viking man could recount the entire, extensive strategy Stoick had outlined before the ships left port. The young man had already blabbed more than a bit of what Snotlout already remembered hearing. "I just don't like it. Hookfang doesn't like being cooped up below deck."

"Meatlug doesn't either," Fishlegs said gloomily.

"At least your dragon won't light itself on fire when angry. Hookfang might get so stressed he'll burn us up."

"Then how about you go down and check up on him?" Astrid suggested, more as an attempt to make Snotlout leave than out of actual worry Hookfang might flare up. To her regret, Snotlout pretended not to hear her. Maybe she should not have voiced her suggestion so curtly.

"Seriously, how many times has Hiccup gotten himself kidnapped anyway?" he continued ranting. "Has anybody been counting?"

"I certainly haven't," Tuffnut piped up. He and his sister stood a little ways away, leaning up against the nearest mast. "I'm not even very good at counting."

His sister jibed, "I've never seen him get above nine." Tuffnut nodded proudly.

"Well, I don't need to count to know that I am really sick of saving his skinny a –"

"Snotlout!" Astrid snapped, hands almost crushing the wood railing of the ship. "His life is in danger. Have a little sensitivity."

The conversation closed, and everyone shuffled on deck uncomfortably. The young adults contented themselves with staring out into the sea, glancing idly up into the increasingly cloudy skies, and frowning at their fingernails. Beneath them, they could hear the creak of _The Sparrowhawk_ bobbing up and down serenely on the waters, as well as the occasional discomfited shuffle of dragons rearranging themselves below deck. Astrid herself considered stepping down to check on Stormfly, still recuperating from the Vigilante's earlier attack, but with the promise of being able to fly again soon; but then they all noticed a black smudge on the horizon. Initially only a few blackened masts were distinguishable, but as Stoick's small fleet of ships sailed forward, another collection of seaborne vessels materialized.

To Astrid's surprise, these ships bore very little resemblance to Eret's dragon trapping boat. These ships were far larger and sturdier, much squarer in shape, and seemed more equipped for offensive war than simple, desperate defense. However, she could see Eret's shape aboard _The Peregrine Falcon,_ pointing Stoick toward the ships. They were indeed heading in the right direction.

Something about Eret's story of his people desperately killing off dragons to save themselves tickled Astrid wrong. She hoped that the wariness entering the back in her mind would be appeased once they made contact with this Drago Bludvist.


	14. XIV Meet Drago

**XIV.**

The chief of Berk stepped aboard Drago's vessel.

His long, brown fur cape brushed behind him, gently tipping the backs of his boots, as his feet clomped heavily aboard the main deck. Men clad up to their necks in animal pelts, more fur than human flesh visible, stood at attention on either side of Stoick and the handful of Hairy Hooligans who followed behind him. The half dozen representatives Stoick chose included Gobber – as custom – but also Astrid, who insisted on knowing all the details about Hiccup's rescue, to the point he bypassed her low position and level of experience and allowed her to come. She stood beside Eret glaring unchecked at every human being besides her own Hooligans. At least she left the axe back on _The Sparrowhawk._

Stoick frowned beneath his brows and swept his eyes over Drago's entire vessel. He caught sight of the heavy, black chains rigged about the ship, the blowguns and crossbows handled by various men and women on deck, and the hulking, shadowy form standing completely still on the far side of the ship. Stoick knew immediately this was their chief, Drago Bludvist.

Stoick had once before met Drago and considered the man distasteful, though in all the long years since their introduction, he had never quite placed the reason for his malcontent; perhaps the greed in Drago's deep brown eyes appeared too intent, or the scars on his face bode ill. Certainly, the massive man standing on deck now seemed somehow threatening even as he stood perfectly idly. His presence radiated gloom. Either way, though, truly threatening or simply physically intimidating, Stoick knew now that an alliance with this little-known Drago Bludvist would increase his odds at saving Hiccup from the Vigilante.

Unwelcome memories of a female dragon rider entered unbeckoned into Stoick's mind. _Odin's ghost, why has it come to this? _Wearied, he rubbed a ham-sized hand to his brow before advancing forward to speak to Drago. He knew what needed be done.

He predicted others would call him brash or war-hungry for the alliance he planned to make today, yet he could hide his face no longer from the issue of the Vigilante. To bunker down and wait out any potential dragon attacks initially seemed the wisest course of action, and he would have held firmly to it, if not for the incident involving his own son. Yet for Hiccup, Stoick would be willing to enter a war head-on.

No turning back now, in any case. He stood aboard a foreign vessel, planning to speak his course of action to another Viking chief.

And there that Viking chief stood.

Drago Bludvist matched Stoick's height, girth, and impressive display of muscle on his one uncovered arm. Drago's mass of black dreadlocks, though, was nothing like would be seen on Berk. His skin appeared darkened, almost suggesting he came far from the south, but his eyes spoke of familiarity with the northern seas. Brown eyes stared out intensely from a heavily scarred face, though he approached Stoick with a broad enough smile to somewhat compensate.

Eret stood to Stoick's left side and stepped forward, seemingly apprehensively, to explain Stoick's arrival. "Drago," he said, eyes not quite meeting the chief's, "this man says he can, uh, help with the Vigilante."

Drago took immediate interest in the red-bearded chief of Berk.

"Stoick the Vast, Chief of the Hairy Hooligan Tribe," he said as simple means of introduction.

"Drago Bludvist, Chief of the Visithugs," the other man answered, just as candidly. Drago entered straight into the conversation, leaving formalities quickly behind. "You, too, wish to rid the archipelago of this dragon-riding scum?"

"She has taken my son," Stoick said. "For that, we plan to mount an attack."

Drago assessed the direction from which Stoick's ships had sailed, then calculated the direction they would continue. "Up north? To her fortress?" He glanced sideways at Eret, as though knowing that the dragon trapper had informed them of the Vigilante's approximate location. He frowned. "That is madness. No one can stand up against her dragons, let alone directly attack her stronghold."

"Except for those who have dragons of their own." To mention Berk's dragons was a gamble – Stoick hardly knew how Drago would react hearing he, too, could control dragons – but it was one he had to admit were he and Drago to work together.

The other man's eyes narrowed, but his face displayed no other reaction. It remained unreadable but dour. "Perhaps. Perhaps you are right." Drago's voice was constantly low and gruff, and it took on an even lower, darker tone at that final comment. "But how would this attack benefit us? You want to save one of your own, but all that aggression will do is anger the Vigilante against my people. We are hard-pressed as –"

"From what I've heard, she has already been attacking your people for years. That won't change. But to fight on the offensive," Stoick reasoned grimly, "is a chance to take a major blow against her. It's not something you could do alone, but together, we could sustain enough damage to make the Vigilante retreat, even if just for a time."

Both of them could hear Gobber mutter some commentary in the background, "Yeesh, I haven't seen the chief this aggressive since he went off sailing to fight the Red Death." Thankfully, Stoick could also hear another individual encouraging Gobber to shut his trap. He did.

Drago's eyes drifted from Gobber's back to Stoick's, ground his teeth beneath his lips, and then finally opened his mouth to declare, "Yes. We will fight."


	15. XV Meet the Alpha

**XV.  
**

_The future of the dragons._

Something in the tone of her speech suggested more.

_The end of the dragons._

"Alright. Hold on, wait just a minute –" Hiccup began, but was cut off by the Vigilante's voice.

"Follow me," she said, and stepped lightly toward the edge of the cliff, leaning her torso over to the water beneath her once she arrived. Hiccup, frowning slightly, shadowed her, though only after Toothless gave him a warning growl. He was almost more protective than Stoick, at times.

"I'll be alright, bud."

Then he looked downward and gasped in astonishment. Toothless, suddenly very worried, rushed up to Hiccup's side, but then stared down with widened green eyes that matched Hiccup's own.

What the young Viking once earlier took to be a snowy mountain breathed out a shower of ice. Two eyes slowly, very slowly, opened, revealing a pair of slivered pupils resting on a sky blue background. The eyes of an enormous white dragon.

The dragon's eyes were set in a massive, blunt head full of spikes, each one extending upward, leading into an enormous crest that matched the icy spires towering throughout the Vigilante's fortress. On either side of its flattened face rested two enormous, curved tusks, each one of which could have impaled every house in Berk with a single thrust.

"I have taken you here, to the home of the great Bewilderbeast," the tall woman beside Hiccup announced reverently. "The alpha species." She bent her knee down as the enormous dragon sluggishly rose from the bottom of the spring waters. "One of the very few that still exists."

Though Hiccup hardly understood the Vigilante's train of thought, first mentioning the "future of all dragons," and then suddenly introducing this species, he listened, reluctantly enraptured, by her words. He still stood very cautiously beside her – she _had_ attacked him, after all, a day back – but he eagerly consumed the information she provided him. Never before could he have imagined something like this, not even after his days fighting the Red Death. And here at last he was talking to the Vigilante, and could garner information, and could hopefully bargain for peace between her, Berk, and the dragon trappers.

But for now, he simply listened to her speak.

"Every nest has its queen, but this is the _king_ of all dragons," she declared. "With his icy breath, this graceful giant built our nest, a safe haven for dragons everywhere. They all live under his care, and his command."

Indeed, Hiccup already noticed Toothless bending his head down submissively, respectfully, at the impossibly colossal creature before them. And as the dragon rose up, steadily, steadily, its mountainous head coming forward and resting eye on Hiccup – he, too, felt the pressing need to pay homage to the beast. One of its pupils alone could have been the size of Hiccup's torso. Its mouth might have eaten an entire house accidentally. Hiccup found himself bending forward, making himself smaller, giving respect.

"I have lived among them for twenty years, learning their ways, discovering their secrets. Through this, I know more about dragons than any other Viking alive, maybe even any Viking who has ever lived. And what I know is this: these creatures are incredible, and should never be harmed."

At that moment, the enormous Bewilderbeast let out another small puff of ice; and although it seemed a comparatively miniscule amount coming from its lengthy jaws, Hiccup felt an enormous blast of cold as his entire upper body became immediately crusted in frost. Toothless, to his side, stared out in shock; likely the Night Fury could not conceive of a dragon breathing ice rather than fire.

"Wow," Hiccup whispered, brushing the ice from his hair.

Hiccup's response must have pleased the Vigilante, for a smile crept up her defined cheekbones, and she proclaimed, "When I saw a second dragon rider, I could not believe my eyes. It did not seem possible for someone amongst the dragon trappers to ride a dragon himself. Though you tried to fight me, I needed to take you here to find out which side you are on, and whether you fight for dragons or men. To work with you if you fight for the dragons, and to…" her face suddenly turned dark "…make known my threat, did you fight for men."

That Bewilderbeast would be a threat indeed. Though the animal appeared gentle, Hiccup had no misgivings that a dragon the size of a mountain could never be matched by any combination of Viking and dragon armies.

Slowly, Hiccup stepped away from the ledge, his eyes still incapable of leaving the Bewilderbeast for more than an instant. Toothless had no such difficulty diverting his attention; he appeared to be tackling a swarm of multi-colored baby dragons. Or perhaps the babies were tackling him – his eyes were certainly startled enough to warrant the latter.

"Both. Or really, I'm not fighting for either," Hiccup answered. He scratched his head idly with his left hand as he fumbled for words. "There – there doesn't need to be any fighting at all. There can be peace."

"Not between Drago and his men," the Vigilante responded definitively. "There's no reasoning with him."

_Time for the diplomacy that landed me here in the first place._

"What if I can tell you I _have_ spoken to the dragon trappers?"

"Then you place yourself amongst them?"

"No. I – I wouldn't trap a dragon to save my life." Hiccup waved his hands up defensively before the intimidating woman launched herself against him. Her body certainly had tensed up, and the hold on her staff tightened. She suddenly appeared to be a dark dragon queen herself, prepared to protect her nest. Hiccup continued, "But they, the dragon trappers – they say they're only capturing the dragons because you have been attacking them."

"I have been attacking them because they have been capturing my dragons." The Vigilante reversed his words. Every one of them was a bitter taste in her mouth. "It is as it always has been – a war between the two species. And that will never change."


	16. XVI To Kill or Be Killed

**XVI.**

"It – it _can_ change," Hiccup insisted, throwing his arms forward in a vague but still somehow passionate gesture. "Vikings and dragons don't have to fight each other. Look, take my island for example. Where I live, everyone rides –"

"I always lived in a world that was kill or be killed."

That single sentence silenced Hiccup. An intensity weighed down her voice, and it stilled him, too. All at once Hiccup realized she was speaking a very personal account, one that delved deep into her motivations for fighting alongside the dragons. Even if he could persuade her Vikings and dragons could live at peace – even live _together_ – he knew he needed to hear her story first.

She narrated solemnly, eyes focused on her feet. "I believed peace between the humans and dragons was possible." After a short chuckle, she relayed to Hiccup, "It was a very unpopular opinion."

He nodded, thinking of his own childhood, yet wondering how this narrative of a peace-loving woman could be connected to the aggressive dragon rider he had first met in the skies.

Hopeful, he thought, _If she truly wants peace, then we can reason with her._ And though Hiccup still sported a fair scab on his forehead from the dragon attack, he found himself pleased that he had flown out to speak to the Vigilante. The turmoil between her and the dragon trappers could end before any amount of destruction reached Berk.

_We can reason with her._

"During a raid one night," the Vigilante continued, "a dragon broke into my house, finding…" – she paused, suddenly tense – "my… infant son… in the cradle."

The manner in which the Vigilante hesitated, the quick flash of regret coursing through her eyes, tempted Hiccup to speak up with some quick comforting words. It was only polite. Though he had never experienced personally the love of a mother for her son, he knew very well the protective embrace of his father, and felt a moment of pity for the inevitable loss approaching in the story. He already knew, from the tone in her voice, that she would lose her infant child.

"I rushed to protect him." After a small stammer, the woman's voice returned to a calm cadence. "But what I saw was proof of everything I believed. This dragon before me wasn't a vicious beast, but an intelligent, gentle creature whose soul reflected my own.

"I saw the dragon approach my son with no intent of harming him. But then I heard my husband shout, and it startled the dragon. Against my will it took me away into the skies and flew far to the north, landing on this island. I never tried to go home. I finally realized that peoples' minds will never be changed. There will always be war between human and dragons. And though I have flown to many islands over the many years that have passed, I have never since returned to my village, nor seen my husband."

"And your son? Do you know if he survived the raid?"

The Vigilante's mouth twitched into a wry smile, and her green eyes met Hiccup's own. A strange light sparkled in each iris. "I would like to think that he did. On the flipside, though, I am sure everyone in my village believes I died. All for the better." She shrugged. "It would be best if everyone, even my son, never knew about me. Not in a world when I – and maybe you – are the only people who truly understand dragons.

"Stand by me," she formally offered Hiccup, turning to face him directly, and standing fully erect for the first time Hiccup had seen. "I can teach you all that I've learned these past twenty years while living amongst the dragons. Every dragon has its secrets, and I'll show them all to you, if you stand beside me and fight to unlock every trap, find every last species together, and end this world of a war against dragons."

_End this world of a war…_

Hiccup said, "We can end it today. Let me – let me show you." He beckoned toward Toothless, who eagerly bounded away from the baby dragons and toward the young man's side. Hiccup reached for his saddle. "There is already a solution in which Vikings and dragons can live in peace – together."

"No," she snapped.

Hiccup's hands fell to his side.

"Everyone on my island," Hiccup insisted, trying not to sound snappish, and trying to leave out a few choice sarcastic remarks that entered the back of his head, "loves dragons. Rides dragons. Lives with dragons. We have found the answer and the end to the war you hate."

"How long will that last?" Her voice was mournful. "Every once in a while, yes, there might be a great man, a good generation of human beings, a time of peace between Vikings and dragons. I will not deny that. Over the years, though, a corrupt leader will arise. Corrupt men. The dragons enslaved. Once more in pain – it is inevitable! You may have your peace now, but it is no permanent solution. My experience and the history of past generations have taught me that humans and dragons cannot share this world. They are irreconcilable enemies."

"That's not true," Hiccup insisted.

"Look down, boy, look down on the real world."

The only sound the two of them heard was the Bewilderbeast's enormous breaths, and of the baby dragons – still playing with each other, even in Toothless' absence – squawking in the background. Hiccup shook his head in disbelief.

"In this world," continued the woman bitterly, "my dragon-brothers are everywhere in chains. Humans like Drago are enslaving them in traps… they send them into war… they are removing a dragon's fire and clipping their wings and breaking their spirits.

"There is no longer room in our world for both dragons and humans," said the Vigilante, and now she just sounded infinitely wearied, "and when I envision the future, I see we are running out of time. It is too late already. The war has, regretfully, gone too far. It is, you see, a question of Them or Us."

The Vigilante straightened her back, shoulders pushed resolutely backward, arched spine facing away from the cliff ledge and standing against a backdrop of green plant growth, teal icy spires, and hundreds of spiraling colored dragons. Her green eyes flared beneath furrowed brows and tightly-pulled lips. Here stood a fearsome enemy of the Viking tribes, a protector of dragons capable of commanding thousands of fire-breathing beasts. An armored combatant who with the shout of her voice could launch an attack that would level entire villages to the ground, creating uninhabitable piles of ash and soot. A fearsome fighter of her own right, wielding a staff she well-knew how to use. A warrior with an angry, burning passion in her eyes. And though she did not aim her fury directly toward Hiccup, the woman's dark glare forced Hiccup back a step.

"So what would you have me do?" she demanded. She took another step forward, and Hiccup found himself again moving rearward. "Are we to be forever earth-bound when the dragons are no more?" Her voice rose. "No. I will not have that. And so I will call the dragons from far and wide, from the depths of the ocean and the ends of the earth, and we shall fight the final battle before it is too late.

"Will you join me, then, son of Stoick the Vast?" she asked, keenly watching his face for his response. Her hand tightened on her weapon. "Or are you another one of my enemies?"


	17. XVII To Kill or Be Killed

**XVII.**

The languid, deep blue waves of the ocean, lapping slowly in triangular chunks up against the horizon, appeared almost pale and colorless in comparison to the icy monoliths growing out of the sea. Glaciers, some stark white geometric stacks of cubes, others glassy, iridescent, aqua-blue budding rose blossoms, flourished in the bitter cold like forest trees spread in a warmer climate. Newborn ice floes drifted at the base of soaring, sheer-faced monuments; elsewhere, delicate frozen flowers twirled on the ocean surface. Sometimes small tiles of ice floated on top of the water, more neatly aligned than pavement, at least until a stray fish splashed up from the water. Yet even for all the beauty, all the impossible blues and blinding, absolute whites, the rectangles and cubes and spheres and graceful curves – there also dominated an irrefutable environmental harshness. An apathy in the sea and sea stacks. An unforgiving landscape, one that would wear away at heat and energy and any hope of life.

Wind, bitter and gusty, rushed over the heights of the glaciers. It kicked up snow into dusty storms. Higher up in the atmosphere, it shoved clouds forward and cajoled them into whirling tempests. Storms always brewed in the cumulonimbus layers; clouds were either raining or snowing, or preparing to do so.

Currently the smoke gray, colloidal skies had suspended their sleet, leaving Stoick and Skullcrusher to fight the winds and the cold alone. These were more than foe enough. Stoick's deep-chested Rumblehorn battled against temperamental airstreams, wings surging against gusts, relaxing in the brief moments of respite. Stoick, meanwhile, leaned attentively forward with his eyebrows frozen in a permanent frown. He could feel his beard crusting in ice even as he rode through the clouds; were it to harden any more, braids could break off cleanly, brittle as icicles. Still, his beard fared better than the exposed areas of his skin. Stoick's cheeks and nose reddened to a hue as bright as his beard. Even under his cloak and armor, Stoick's entire body stung from the angry cold. For the cold did not simply nip at his body; it sought to eat him whole.

Although unnecessary, Stoick once again pulled the hilt of Hiccup's sword from his belt and held it up to Skullcrusher's nose. The dragon's green nose widened slightly as it inhaled. It well-knew Hiccup's scent by now, but obliged Stoick every time the Viking leaned a hammy hand down holding the retracted blade. "Find him, Skullcrusher, find him," Stoick murmured, and tried to urge the dragon on even faster. His fingers gripped the sword hilt tightly in one hand, held onto his saddle in the other, and bent forward to lend the dragon better aerodynamics.

An impossibly long platform of sheet-like ice suddenly gave way to ocean, and then just as abruptly transformed into a mountain of down-facing icicles, each enormous frozen bar tumbling like a waterfall off the edge of past-vertically inclining overhangs. An entire maze of ice opened up to Stoick's view, much like the Sea Stacks back home, but created of hardened water rather than hardened stone. Caves within the ice twisted about, each of them casting about ominous, gloomy, dark blue shadows and letting in somehow equally ominous streaks of light.

So far as Stoick could see, this vast winter landscape was uninhabited by humans, and scarce even of wildlife. He tried not to shake beneath his thick fur cape, but after having experienced the cold and the biting wind, he could understand completely why this location was very much uninviting to all but the hardiest of souls.

But he would find her. He knew he would. The Vigilante. And his son.

Hiccup _had_ to be alive, just simply trapped in the dragon rider's fortress. And though he knew how dangerous a mission it was to fly himself alone toward an enemy's base, he trusted only himself with a task like this.

Only he had a chance of surviving the Vigilante's lair. For none other had the advantage he did.

Skullcrusher suddenly pointed his nose downward and started to descend. The beetle-like green dragon headed determinedly toward one particularly spiky cluster of green-blue spires; and as Stoick and his dragon neared the target, the Viking chief realized Skullcrusher's intended location was no natural landmark, but an enormous construction of ice. It grew out of the landscape like a weed, but with such sharp thorns no hand would dare try uproot it. Each enormous spire pierced the cumulonimbus clouds with points so sharp they probably cleanly impaled any bypassing birds.

"It's her fortress," Stoick marveled. With a sinking feeling in his gut, Stoick knew he and Skullcrusher would somehow have to navigate through the entire mountain for Hiccup, entering into the very center of that stronghold. He understood at once why Drago and the other Visithugs had warned him the Vigilante's fortress was completely impenetrable.

Why none who had ever entered the vast fortress left.

Stoick would be the first. And, hopefully, if he were not too late, he would be followed closely by Hiccup.

Steering toward the one obvious entrance that would lead to the fortress' center, Stoick and Skullcrusher braced themselves for darkness.


	18. XVIII Secrets and Answers

**XVIII.**

Astrid leaned her back stiffly against the crate, knees pulled up tight to her body to minimize the surface area she covered. She ducked her head down, staring at her feet rather than the metal-laden ship about her, and relied on touch and hearing to observe her surroundings. Sensed the vibration on the hard deck beneath her. Felt the unwelcome hard and heavy pulse of the heart inside her chest. Listened to Snotlout's nervous breaths panting at her right side.

Voices carried over her head, the voices of dragon trappers from whom she wished remain undetected. When she heard the heavy footfall of boots stomp across deck toward her, she forced herself not to breathe. Snotlout, for once with a little amount of discretion, did likewise.

The shadow of a pair of boots fell past the two Hooligans, but then returned the way they came.

_This was probably a bad idea,_ Astrid admitted to herself.

And when the sound of clopping footsteps completely faded, Snotlout remarked aloud – a bit too noisy for her comfort – "This was a dumb idea. I say we go back."

Though he unintentionally directly repeated Astrid's own train of thought, his rude declaration grated against her, and she found her fingers clenching tightly against the haft of her axe. She forced herself to loosen her hands, but her eyes almost unconsciously rolled when Snotlout piped up his voice again.

"You should have listened to me. I'm in charge, anyway."

After hissing at Snotlout to lower his voice, Astrid retorted, "You are _not_." With that, she pulled herself up to her feet and lightly darted across the deck to another cover – a large metal device, possibly some sort of a dragon trap. Snotlout followed, boots clunking, but thankfully neither of the Vikings were heard. They peeked out from around the side of their hideaway, watching Drago's dragon trappers working on board. They shuffled on deck, transferring materials, sharpening weapons, seemingly typical activities for men preparing for potential war. Though the ship appeared foreboding in a sense, dark metals and spikes scattered amongst ship riggings and ropes, no activity here appeared unusual or suspicious.

_I would have _sworn_ they were hiding something from us,_ Astrid thought to herself. She did not know whether to be relieved the trappers appeared to be working honestly, or frustrated at herself for reacting so initially suspiciously against them and their chief, Drago.

Astrid also had hoped Snotlout would cease speaking after their final round of dialogue, but he apparently wished to argue. He pulled up Astrid's last comment and directly countered it, not seeming to care that her remark had been several minutes ago. "Sure I'm in charge," he averred cockily, puffing out his already-thick chest to an impressive breadth. "Stoick's gone, so is Hiccup, and I'm the next in line."

"Look, Snotlout," Astrid said, turning away from her view of the trappers and staring the shorter young man in the eye. "Just because you're Stoick's nephew doesn't automatically give you authority. Not when the chief specifically placed Magnus and Gobber in control. In all honesty, if I had to pick between you and your sister, I'd pick Adelaide."

"But she's only eleven."

"Yeah. At least _she_ acts her age." Halfway through her sentence, Astrid realized her voice was unintentionally rising, and forced herself to pull the volume down again while remaining just as terse. She glanced back apprehensively to make sure no one on board the vessel had heard her speak.

They continued to transfer materials, eyes cast downward more often than not.

"Is that supposed to be an insult?" Snotlout frowned.

Astrid gestured for Snotlout to follow her to the edge of the ship. Beneath them, close to the surface of the sea, two dragons hovered, waiting for their masters to hop back down on them. As Astrid secured herself onto Stormfly's back and instructed the dragon to fly low away from the dragon trapping vessel, she asked Snotlout, "So, if you think this is such a dumb idea, then why did you come?"

The dragons ghosted the oceans just above the water, below the deck of the ship, and hopefully leaving the area without any notice from non-Hooligan eyes. Astrid could feel the spray of white water waves against her face. Just far enough away to be specks in the distance from Drago's ships, Stormfly and Hookfang alighted on a large iceberg floating halfway between the Visithugs and the Hooligans, and both the riders dismounted, Astrid far more fluidly than Snotlout.

"I don't know," Snotlout said. "Because it seemed more interesting than just sitting on the _Sparrowhawk_?"

"Well, remind me next time to leave you behind. You've been talking too much. We're trying not to get caught."

"Oh, _I'm_ talking too much? You're responding to everything I'm saying. You're talking just as much as I am and –"

Astrid pulled her axe up threatening to Snotlout's chest. The handle covered half his vision, an enormous, slick silver blade wavering right before a pair of startled blue eyes. Snotlout obsequiously shut his lips.

"Thank you," she muttered under her breath, and stepped away from him.

At that point in time, both of them heard the unmistakable rustle of flapping dragon wings, looked skyward, and watched a two-headed green Zippleback dragon descend alongside a bumblebee-like brown, grinning, drooling Gronckle.

"What took you so long?" Astrid asked once the three new arrivals landed beside them. "I thought you would have beaten us here by a long shot. _Someone_ –" Astrid glared at Snotlout "– almost got us caught, and we had to wait in the corner of a ship before we were safe to leave."

"Oh, he's got nothing on Ruffnut," Tuffnut asserted. "My idiot sister here is to blame for _us_ being late."

"She might have accidentally knocked out one of the men on board," Fishlegs squeaked queasily.

"Yeah. It was that Eret guy, too," Tuffnut elaborated.

Between the two men, Ruffnut positively sulked.

"Well, you knock me out, sweetie," Snotlout crooned from Ruffnut's side. The blonde's facial expression turned from a sulk into a horrified grimace, complete with backing away and emitting a disgusted groan. From her side, Tuffnut produced a death glare at Snotlout. His fellow Hairy Hooligan appeared not to notice any of the hostility.

"Look, I didn't mean to, alright you guys?" Ruffnut sulked. Her eyes turned dreamy as she stared into the skies. "He's just… too perfect…"

"Ruffnut was hitting on Eret?" Astrid inquired, finally picking up enough contextual information to guess.

"Literally," Fishlegs confirmed.

Tuffnut, following on Fishlegs' heels, suggested, "Don't ask for more details."

"Can I at least ask if angry Visithugs are going to be on our tails anytime soon?" Astrid queried.

"No one saw us," Fishlegs said, "and I… don't think Eret will be waking up anytime soon. He might not even remember what happened."

"What _did_ you do to him?" Astrid gasped.

Ruffnut pouted even more.

"Okay." Astrid turned the conversation away from that topic and onto another. "Besides that incident, was there anything of interest on the ship you scouted?" After all three Hooligans spoke the negative, Astrid conceded that neither she nor Snotlout found anything noteworthy either.

"Well that's good to know," Fishlegs said optimistically. With a grin, he turned to hop back onto Meatlug. His Gronckle, seeing the husky man approach, perked up and hung her enormous tongue out of her equally enormous maw. "Sounds like we can go on back and quit worrying about Drago, can't we?"

But Astrid said, "No."

Everyone paused.

"You can all go back. But I think I want to check a few more ships."

"Astrid, we already trespassed on two of their boats. We're allies with them. If the Vigilante attacks, we want them on our _good_ side. All this suspicion is… unhealthy… and extreme even for you."

"There's something wrong with that man," Astrid insisted, picking up her axe and weighing it in her hand. "Something incredibly wrong, and I'm going to find out why. Something felt 'off' yesterday when Drago met with the chief. I don't know what exactly, but I think he's holding back important information from us. I can't trust fighting with someone if he's going to be keeping secrets, so I figure I might as well take a peek at some of his dragon trappers, since the fleet isn't going to be taking any actions in the next two days."

"Look, Astrid, I know you're fidgety," said Fishlegs, who was so fidgety himself he could hardly hold the pommel of the saddle right in front of him with either sweaty palm, "and I know that when you're impatient you want to _do_ something… but I don't think that trying to spy on Drago and his men is a good idea right now. Or later. Or ever."

"Well, I need to find out. I'm just going to check a few more ships."

"What is it with you and going into danger?" he complained.

"This isn't dangerous," Astrid insisted. She glanced at the others and remarked, "I'll just be leaving one ship and boarding another." And, with one final shrug that pushed her fur hood back off her shoulders, Astrid urged Stormfly to head back toward the distant fleet of ships.


	19. XIX Secrets and Answers

**XIX.**

The vessel she headed toward could have housed an entire island of Vikings. It _appeared_ to be an island, from the distance. Several masts like the enormous tree trunks of a forest sprouted to the skies, roots buried deep in the sturdy platform of the ship, branches reaching out and hosting infinite sail-like leaves. As Astrid approached, she noticed each large sail boasted an insignia, symmetric horizontally, which appeared rather like an axe driven through the head of a Monstrous Nightmare. Ropes twisted like vines around each mast, dropping down to an expansive deck that could have been a plateau. All around it, the metal-worked heads of angry, sharp-nosed dragons, faces brimmed with spikes, decorated the bow and sides. Elsewhere, round iron bulbs grew out like blisters from the deck – the dragon traps.

Astrid advanced straight toward this ship knowing exactly who stood on board. Drago. If she chose to slip aboard some vessel, searching out hidden information, she might as well clamber aboard the center of Visithug activity.

"Quiet, Stormfly," she whispered, nudging her blue dragon downward, slipping in even closer to the ocean water. Night was descending quickly upon the seas, casting the ocean and the dragon in strange, ever-shifting combinations of moonlight and moonshadow. "Drop me off over there."

She slipped between chains, hugging darkness, creeping slowly forward to the sound of murmuring voices. Though neither man nor woman standing aboard deck were Drago, Astrid caught the mention of their chief's name, and thus paused to listen, intently. She could barely make out the words, but knew that stepping any closer would risk being sighted.

" –know what he's doing?" the woman asked in a gruff, low alto voice.

"Careful," the other soldier responded. Though the man appeared as little more than a silhouette against a backdrop of moonbeams and glittering ocean water, Astrid could read the tension in his body language. Whatever topic the two were discussing, it was clearly taboo. "He wouldn't much like you –" his voice lowered beyond Astrid's hearing "– just… with the plan, okay? ...Berk soon enough."

Astrid started.

_They're talking about _Berk?

_ I need to hear this._

"…when Berk… then we'll…" Voices cutting in and out.

_Maybe a few steps closer is safe enough…_

Feet inching forward.

"I don't see why we aren't heading straight to Berk right now," the woman voiced. "They're no match for our armada, especially with half their fleet here in the north."

Astrid frowned, suddenly worried at that last statement's implications. She felt her heart pounding, just a little, just enough to make her uncomfortable while crouched in the darkness.

Male voice. "Don't you see? It's tactics. Without _their_ fleet, we would have no chance of taking out the Vigilante. But _with_ them, we might actually have a chance at getting the…"

Astrid clenched her fist in frustration. She could not hear the last word. _Have a chance at getting _what_?_

_ The entire time Drago has been trying to _use_ us? _

"Eh, I suppose you're right," the female soldier responded, shrugging noncommittally under her armor. She rotated her body to head toward the aft of the ship. "I just don't fully like it, that's all."

Astrid inched backward. _Conversation done. Time to go._ Felt something on her shoulder. Something warm. Saw fingers. Turned around. A face. Something gray – took her an instance to recognize a halberd. Every muscle in Astrid's body froze, minus her heart, which began pounding furiously to make up the lack of movement elsewhere.

"What's this? Stoick doesn't trust us?"

Another voice from somewhere in the shadows – _There's two of them? How could I miss two people? _– demanded, "How much did you hear?"

"Doesn't matter now," the first man declared. "Either way, she knows too much."


	20. XX Secrets and Answers

**XX.**

The croons of sleeping dragons echoed infinitely through the mountain cliffs, echoing, echoing, echoing, each repetition contributing to a strange musical hum. The drone collided with the clash of a dozen waterfalls splashing torrents of water down into the warm sauna below. Only that water stirred, nothing else. None of the dragons moved. The Bewilderbeast rested like a dormant volcano at the center of the fortress, while other scaly forms stacked themselves along the cliff sides. Not even nanodragons buzzed around at this time of night. So far as Hiccup could tell, the only dragon awake was Toothless, and even he moved little more than his eyelids, each blink drooping more and more heavily. Hiccup lay down beside him. He rested on his back, resenting the smattering of rocks that still jabbed into his back, but feeling too tired to actual move himself and try to shift into a more comfortable position. Chances were, even if he could find the perfect resting position, his mind would keep him awake anyway.

"What do you think, Toothless?" he asked, his voice halfway between a whisper and full voicing. The result was an uncertain inflection, cracking slightly, disturbing the musical draconic hum in the background. "Did I make the right decision?"

Toothless let out an enormous huff, then elaborated his opinion with a few growls and smacking, gummy lips. Just enough moonlight filtered in through the icy mountain rooftop that Hiccup could make out the expression on his dragon's face.

Hiccup shrugged and shifted his eyes downward. "Yeah. Me, too."

Finally deciding to find a more comfortable position, Hiccup resituated himself to rest his back against Toothless' side. From this position he could feel the steady, slow rise and fall of the Night Fury's chest as the dragon breathed, and could gaze out at the darkened, blue-tinged landscape around him.

"Still don't have to follow through with it," Hiccup pointed out. He knew at this point he was talking to himself as much as the dragon, yet he hardly cared. Just so long as no one else eavesdropped on his commentary. Glancing to the side, where his breastplate, flight suit, and vambraces lay in a heap, Hiccup continued, "We could always just leave."

Toothless let out a small groan, followed by a somehow indignant yawn.

"I know, I know, I would rather get some sleep, too. But we can't do it in the morning when the Vigilante is awake. Haven't you been paying attention, you ignorant reptile? She's watching us more intently than Snotlout after a plate of mutton. If we're going to get out of here, it has to be now."

Hiccup abruptly realized the manner in which he had been speaking suggested he would indeed fall through with the plan to try escape. Somehow he had already secured his position before talking through all the details.

"Alright then, bud, let's go." He turned to put on his armor again.

Toothless' tail drooped, and he moaned pitifully as he rose to his feet.

"You'll thank me later. Now come on," he whispered.

Hiccup dared not fly through the Vigilante's fortress. Though the enormous, cliff-covered clearing in which he and Toothless currently resided could have housed every building in Berk, Hiccup recalled that the outer rings of the fortress were tight, maze-like tunnels hardly conducive for flight. Smaller dragons might have been able to stretch their full wingspan, but not Toothless. Thus, the black dragon and his rider cautiously sneaked away from the cliff and headed toward the nearest cave entrance. The soft luminescence from the ice above abruptly died as walls transformed to stone.

"I can't see a thing. A little help, bud?" Hiccup whispered. He placed his hand on Toothless' shoulder blade, allowing the dragon to lead the way. Despite trying to study Toothless, Hiccup could never pinpoint exactly how the Night Fury navigated in complete darkness; somehow, after emitting a purplish plasma blast, Toothless could step forward, completely confidently, through even the darkest and most complicated of paths.

And thus the world consisted of the echo of a foot slowly followed by the light click of a metal leg, of a dragon's deep breaths and a young man's lighter ones, of the strange whispers of drafts leaking through winding corridors. Occasionally Toothless would emit a soft murmur to warn Hiccup of a rocky step upward or downward, and Hiccup would carefully lean in on Toothless before proceeding forward. He still found himself stumbling frequently, cursing equally about the dark and his peg leg. The lack of an ankle joint on his left side always made for trickier footing on rough pathways, for no amount of practice on a prosthetic could replace the adroitness of a flesh-and-blood foot.

"For the love of – Toothless, wait," Hiccup muttered, nearly falling on his face as he felt his left leg hook on some unseen obstacle. He staggered forward, hands crashing on the ground in front of him – and still his leg remained firm, locked in place. "I'm caught on something." He wiggled for a little, cursed, then suggested, "Toothless, a little light?"

A light plasma blast shot quickly illuminated the cavern in an unearthly bright blue glow before everything reverted to its natural black state. However, that brief glimpse of light had been enough for Hiccup to see how his peg leg had been wedged between two rocks. He pulled carefully upward, breathed in relief when his full leg and prosthetic followed, then gently straightened himself to full height. "Alright. Let's keep going."

Forward again. Dragon inhale. Exhale. Footsteps, one at a time. The whistle of moving air – was it becoming louder? Did that indicate they were nearing an exit?

Hiccup's palm suddenly sensed a steady rumble shaking the scaly skin on Toothless' shoulder. The dragon's body vibrated as Toothless growled, nearly inaudible even in this quiet cave. Hiccup, following the Night Fury's lead, stepped slowly backwards and pressed himself against the cavern wall. The stone felt incredibly cold against his neck.

_What's going on?_

The sound of wings flapping, and then the grumble of an insomniac dragon followed. The scrape of a tail against the bottom of the cavern. Hiccup could not gauge the size of the dragon, nor its distance from him and Toothless when it passed, but he could feel an increase in temperature and the movement of air as it passed them by. Hiccup automatically fumbled at his right thigh, only to remember yet again his sword Inferno was missing.

Indefinite time lapsed.

_I think it's gone._

And Toothless again stepped forward.

They suddenly approached blue-tinged light, and stepped into a room about a third the size of Berk's Great Hall, and with much a lower ceiling. Holes broke the uniformity of silver stone, letting in the blinding moon's glow. Spotlights cast lights on peculiar forms resting motionless on the stone floor. Hiccup approached cautiously.

The entire room resonated in an abstract painting of limited colors, circular splotches of reds, tans, and blues glowing underneath the moonbeams. These bright patches contrasted with the ominous grays and blacks cloaking the rest of the chamber. Unearthly, the room both glowed from the moon and swarmed with darkness. A tapestry crafted from the brightest dyes could not have captured the strange mottled mix of obscuring shadows and sudden spots of color.

Something underneath Hiccup's foot crunched, and he retaliated, disgusted, when he recognized what he stepped on. Though partially blackened, elsewhere painted red, the shape of a human foot was unmistakable. A half-frostbitten, severed human foot, lying several feet away from the rest of its frozen corpse. Hiccup felt thankful for shadows hiding details, though he had the queasy suspicion those dark patches of black on the floor would actually turn out to be the stains of blood in brighter light. Stepping sideways, Hiccup slowly distanced himself from the body, angling left toward the exit of the chamber.

This time, his prosthetic almost landed on a femur. An old bone, but not entirely devoid of meat. Something – probably a dragon – had clearly gnawed on it, leaving strands of muscles and ruptured blood vessels like tangled twine to twist around the white rod at center. A half-fresh skull, still somehow sporting one gawking eye and half a face of ice-frozen skin, gaped nearby, just as shocked to see a live human being as Hiccup was to see a dead one. They competed in a staring match until a small, slimy worm-like creature, wiggling through the remainder of the face's left nostril, dropped to the floor and made Hiccup turn away, nauseated.

A dozen and a half men must have rested here, unburied, left to freeze, half-preserved, greatly deformed, on unforgiving stone. Some faces appeared clearly chewed on by dragons, peculiar holes driving through taught-drawn cheekbones, or scratch marks marring the reddened backs of downward-facing victims. All around them, bows, arrows, and shields lay useless. One sword, a simple, slightly-bent mass of metal, dedicatedly guarded the side of a man whose ribs formed a shelter for a nest of miserable rodents.

Though Hiccup wished simply to dart across the room with Toothless and leave all the shadowed images behind, he noticed nonetheless that these men died on different days. Different _years_. Perhaps even decades. A parched white skeleton reclined against the walls in one corner of the room, while other corpses clearly boasted a more recent demise – some perhaps only two days old.

"Careful, Toothless," Hiccup murmured. "Be on the lookout for traps."

His eyes scanned the room, taking in the grinning blue half-face of what might have been a middle aged woman – she still sported raggedy clumps of long whitish hair – and swept his gaze thoroughly through the chamber, seeking out any explanation for the deaths here. "It seems like they were all attacked. Killed by… something." He could not tell if it were dragon or human.

Either way, he felt very suspicious that the deaths pertained directly to the Vigilante.

_Is this what would have happened had I outright refused her offer?_ Hiccup deliberated, cringing as he stepped over a particularly freshly ripped hand and a mushy roundish object that might have been half a human heart. Shredded, red-splattered clothes lay like a memorial underneath part of the display. _Then again, I never really _accepted_ her offer, either. Is this what's going to happen to me if I don't get out of here?_

Shadows of skeletal hands reached forward to grab him. Eyes from the fresh bodies and eye sockets from the old watched him, judgingly.

And then something moved.

Toothless let out a horrified screech.

"Don't shoot!" a woman's voice shouted out. Black, colloidal shapes resolved themselves into the solid form of a Viking warrior. The Vigilante.

She stepped forward, staff in hand. "Were you trying to escape?"

"Just… exploring," Hiccup ventured, "at night. Yeah…" His voice trailed off. Everyone in the chamber – everyone living, anyhow – knew precisely what Hiccup and Toothless had intended.

The woman stepped past the bodies, even prodding one of them with her foot as she made her way up to Hiccup's face. "You didn't need to see this," she said.

And because he had no better question to ask, Hiccup found himself saying, "What happened here?"

"These," she gestured with her rod, "are some of the men and women who paid the price for taking arms against dragons."

"You killed them," Hiccup guessed.

"They killed themselves by coming here."

Hiccup tried not to gape, to show disgust. His nose might have wrinkled and his eyebrows furrowed despite his best efforts.

"This is proof that the world of man and the world of dragons must be separated. It is a world of violence," she said, and the young Hooligan forced himself to look upon the nearest corpse to his right. "A world in which I was forced to kill men because they assaulted my sanctuary."

"Did all of them come here by choice? Or did you kidnap some of them like you kidnapped me?"

An incredibly brash comment, something Hiccup normally would not have _ever_ stated aloud, but in this period of shock he found the words shooting out of his mouth before he even consciously registered those thoughts. Perhaps the Vigilante was right, and that the deaths were caused purely from self-defense. Perhaps they had been unavoidable, and truly were a tragedy to the war between humans and dragons. But in the midst of his frustration and exhaustion, of watching a war progress between two forces which both antagonized the other side to further action, Hiccup needed to snap back at something. A snide remark, a pointed comment, an accusation. And then, because he had already begun, he continued spouting out words, each one tumbling over the last before the previous syllable had been completed.

"Is that what you're going to do to me, then, because I'm not going to join your cause to attack dragon trappers? Even if I'm someone who doesn't want war, but peace? Someone who loves dragons, just as you do? Are you going to kill me right now? Is that it?"

"No," she said, and that was all.

"No," she said again, and this time continued to another sentence. "I could never do that." Another pause. Another sentence. "Not kill you."

Uneasy, knees bent, Hiccup inquired very hesitantly, "What makes me different?"

An uncanny chuckle ripped from her throat. "Of all times to tell you, this would be the worst."

"Uh, okay." Hiccup shifted uncomfortably. How to respond to that? He found his voice becoming edgier, inserting in a little bit of acerbity. "But I really think that clearing issues _up_ would be… ah…"

"Very well then." She cleared her throat. Suddenly appeared… was that _guilt_ in her pursed lips? Discomfort? Regret? In an instant, the emotions disappeared, obscured by shadow as she stepped away from a spotlight of moonbeams.

"I would have you know, before I say anything more, that I do _care_ about the fate of men. I fight for the dragons, yes, and always will. This does not mean I want the world to end in blood. Rather, I want to prevent the needless bloodshed that I saw all around me as I was taken by dragons away from my village." She paused, definitely appeared uncertain this time. "Away from my husband." Further hesitation. "Away from you… my…" She choked on her own vocal cords. "My son," she said. "For a mother never forgets."


	21. XXI Secrets and Answers

**XXI.**

_"My son."_

_Son._

* * *

_Mother._

* * *

Eight years old. Listen to Dad yawning. Even without looking back at Dad's face, from the sounds he can tell his father's mouth stretches open enormously wide, a cavern. Then Dad grumbles like a groggy, angry Gronckle, clearly tired, even though it is only mid-morning. He is always tired. Today even more than usual. Despite this, Dad keeps a very firm, steady hand on his son's tiny shoulder, steering them both into a shop covered head to floor in swords and axes and shields and many weapons for which the boy knows no name. All are so sharp, so grand, and many blades are wider than his face.

As always, his father's voice warns, "Now, Hiccup, don't touch _anything_."

A roundish blonde-haired man with one arm and one leg glances up from his work. With his right hand, he pulls off a protective mask to reveal a pair of narrowly-set, sparkling blue eyes. After adjusting a false tooth in his lower jaw, the man remarks, "Aw, babysitting duties again, Stoick?"

The boy wanders off to investigate an axe head twice the size of his torso.

The chief heaves an enormous sigh. "You know I'm too busy to look after him, Gobber."

"And _you_ know I've got work to do, too. Couldn't you ask one of your sisters to look after him today? I've got more orders on call than I've got hairs on my chest."

"I already tried talking to Brenda and Gladioli about it."

"And what about Egginbreeza, Burly Sweet, and Glugga? Or even Spitelout? The lad's not short on relatives to look after him."

The boy pretends not to hear the conversation. He can see the reflection of his two suddenly-solemn green eyes in the polished silver of a mace in front of him.

"Gobber, please, you know I prefer you watching over him than someone like _Burly_. I just…" Stoick's eyebrows fall into a hairy frown. "This would be so much easier if he had his mother to help raise him."

"It would," Gobber agrees. His voice is hesitant after Stoick's last comment. Then, after a sufficient and rather somber pause, he suggests more lightly, "You know, he's getting to be old enough anyway not to need such a close eye on him. How about you just let him play in the village with the other lads and lasses?"

"Without adult supervision? He could get hurt. He _would_ get hurt. You know what he's like." Out of the corner of his eye, the boy notices Dad staring carefully at him.

_I'm not going to touch anything,_ he thinks sullenly. He turns pointedly back to one of the axes lying low to the ground.

Meanwhile, the one-armed man shakes his head. "No, you're being too protective," Gobber responds. "The boy's got to live a little, Stoick."

"Exactly," Dad says. The chief hefts a massive breath through his beard. For some reason his exhale sounds heavier than the hammer Gobber wears on his left arm stub. "The dragon raids are becoming worse and more frequent. They're even attacking during the day now. I can't risk losing him, Gobber. I can't lose him to a dragon in the same way he lost his mother."

_Mother._ It is a word the boy rarely hears, at least coming from Dad. He listens curiously while pretending to still investigate Gobber's latest smithing projects.

"You won't. Look, okay, he's safe right here. I'll watch him," Gobber agrees at last.

"Closely this time?"

"Closely. No more… near accidents."

"Good."

Dad turns to go. The boy slumps. Dad never stays around.

"You know, Stoick," the one-armed man states suddenly, right before Dad strides out the door, "Hiccup working directly for me would keep him from running off into trouble." And with a little chuckle, glancing briefly down at his arm stump, remarks, "And I could certainly use another hand or two."

"Make it two," Stoick responds. "I don't want him losing any limbs."

"We'll start easy. Completely safe."

The chief hesitates. "Isn't he a little young to be an apprentice?"

"Eight's about as young as I think a smith would take them, but he should do fine." Gobber looks over and smiles at the child, who stares, mostly uncomprehending, at the two adults.

"Alright then. But again. _No injuries._"

Then the chief really does leave, big back hunching under the doorframe as he steps outside. Gobber turns to his charge. Big green eyes stare up at him.

"If I had a mother," the boy pipes up, "then I wouldn't spend each day with you or one of my aunts or Uncle Spitelout or Gothi, would I? I could stay home."

He sees Gobber pause and purse his lips. Did he say something wrong?

"Yes," the blacksmith finally replies. "You would stay at home."

"I wouldn't be passed around. Someone would _want _me around."

Gobber turns away. He gives no answer to that.

"I wish I had a mom."

* * *

Hiccup stumbled inadvertently backwards, back bumping up against Toothless' nose. The dragon, sensing Hiccup's shock, nudged him gently from behind. A gasp – and then a second one – jumped out of Hiccup's jaws, and he just stood there, gaping, at the Vigilante – this woman… this…

_Did I hear that correctly? Did she just call me her _son_?_

* * *

Fifteen years old. He sits, tense, uncomfortable, in a dimly lit room. Sketches of Night Furies and mechanical tails are chaotically swept to the corner of his desk, barely hidden under his scrawny, stick-like right arm. No one other than his father is seated across from him – the reason for his great discomfort.

But Dad seems uneasy, too. He feels guilty about it – Dad was only trying to be friendly, after all… unusually enough… coming into his work station to talk to him about his recent success in Dragon Training. Yet, feeling nothing to say, he has simply stared at his father's face, worrying that his Dad will suddenly somehow guess the true reason he has flourished in the Ring.

Dad shuffles. "Oh. Uh. Uh. Here. I, uh, I brought you something," the chief pipes up. He pulls out a metal helmet, fairly plainly built but strong, and then holds it by the two upward-curving horns protruding on either side. Slowly Dad hands it out to him. "To keep you safe. In the Ring."

He accepts the helmet, glances down, smiles slightly, and answers, "Wow. Thanks." He begins to finger the horns on the helmet, poking his finger carefully at the sharp point of the left side. Though truly not much of a fighter in need of such a helmet, receiving a gift from his father is rare anymore, and the fine curve of the horns on this helm entrance him.

Dad continues, "Ah, your mother would have wanted you to have it. It's half of her breast plate."

Immediately, he quits stroking the horn of the helmet.

"Matching set," Dad continues, not at all seeming to find the origin of the helm awkward – or else, better at hiding it. "Keeps her… keeps her close, you know." And then the chief again slips into a cumbersome demeanor, eyes downcast, inwardly grieving even after nearly fifteen years of his wife's absence.

He finds himself incapable of responding. For all he never met his mother – cannot remember her, anyway – he feels a gap in their family, as well. Someone he always imagined would nurture him, rather than scowl disappointedly at him. Someone who could comfort him, rather than tell him to "act like a Viking." Someone who would approve of him, rather than off-handedly call him "the worst Viking Berk has ever seen."

Someone whose presence would make less painful the emotional gap between himself and his father.

_I wish I had a mom._

* * *

Twenty years old.

_This woman… the Vigilante… is my _mother_!_

All at once he noticed himself in her, saw the subtle reflection of his own guise in the mirror now standing before him, noticed the similarities in their eye shapes and eye color, recognized that the two of them shared the same nose, the same body build, similar hair colors, similar... but even then, with the physiological evidence presented before him, it was no less than absurd for a strange woman to just declare that he was her son. A woman who was supposed to be dead.

Eaten by dragons, the Berkians always sympathetically murmured, just beyond Stoick the Vast's hearing.

_Carried off by dragons, actually._

"You are not… upset?" she asked hesitantly. She stood, crouched down, fingers near a patch of old, dried blood, staring at Hiccup quite apprehensively.

_Upset about the fact that I'm standing in a room full of _dead bodies_ that my mother killed? No, how could I be upset about _that?

_ My… my mother. _Her_._ _Maybe I never should have wished for my mom. I never could have imagined…_

So different than everything he had ever conceptualized through the years, so unlike the image of the woman he imagined in his head as a child, the make-believe wraith who ghosted him with hugs and kisses and supportive comments, the missing link in his family which would have made his home life complete. Did he truly want _this_, though, this reality? A woman who could – and already had – disarmed him with a single blow? Someone who single-handedly controlled a legion of dragons, attacking the ships and fortresses and villages of her enemies?

"Do you – do you grasp how insane this sounds?" Hiccup instead babbled aloud. Better to voice something like this, even if poorly conceived, rather than express every other startled thought coursing his head. At least this commentary did not focus on the _bodies_. "Everyone said you were dead! I – I have so many questions. Like first – first off, how – how did you _know_?"

"The scar on your chin," she replied. She had to cut in to prevent Hiccup from rambling off an entire list of inquiries. Contrasting to the Hooligan man, she spoke slowly, measuredly, softly. "You received it when you were a babe. The night I was taken by dragons." Her eyes remained downcast the entire time she spoke. "That's how I knew you were Stoick's son – _my_ son."

Her earlier narrative, of all those years ago when the dragons spirited her away to this frozen winterland, rose to Hiccup's mind. The worry in her voice, speaking of her son. The regret wrinkling the corners of her eyes into a tense sadness after she mentioned leaving her family behind her. The words she had spoken regarding her infant child – _I rushed to protect him_. The nostalgia with which she had murmured about her son in the present – _It would be best if everyone, even my son, never knew about me._ And yet also she had expressed intentions to unite with him in a war against dragon trappers – _Stand by me. I can teach you all that I've learned these past twenty years while living amongst the dragons._

Even after all these years apart, had she displayed subtle signs of… _loving_ ...him?

And when she repeated her comment, "You _are_ upset," Hiccup could hear in her voice the worry that a son was rejecting his mother.

He found himself amending his previous answer, scratching awkwardly at his head. How could he balance her positive traits with her unfavorable ones? How could he judge her? One who stood passionately before dragons – something he admired. Someone who stood amongst the bodies of those she killed – something repulsive. How _could_ he reconcile that aspect of her? If her actions had been entirely out of self-defense, such as she implied, he supposed he could possibly accept it, for his father had done no worse during the era of dragon raids, but it nevertheless did not ease the queasiness churning in his stomach…

"What? No. I… I don't know. I mean… it's – it's a bit much to get my head around, to be frank." Waving his arms around, eyes wide, he observed, "It's not every day you find out your mother is some crazy, feral, vigilante dragon lady."

_Who _killed_ these people._ He could not quit thinking on that. The bodies suddenly appeared even more repulsive to him, now. Slowly he inched his foot further away from the half-chewed femur lying on the ground beside him. Toothless crooned worriedly from behind.

_Can I accept someone like _this_ as my mother?_

The Vigilante had a question of her own, one she spoke aloud. "Well, I guess at least I'm not boring, right?"

She waited for a response.

"Well…" Hiccup said slowly, glancing at Toothless' own perplexed facial expression, and grabbing the end of the Night Fury's nose for some desperately needed stability, "I suppose… there is that… one specific thing." He fumbled again, hoping to eject out a phrase sounding somewhat more positive – at the very least to placate the Vigilante – if not also to try to bolster himself up into a more rose-tinted mentality. "I – I – I don't have the _words_."

The Vigilante sighed. After picking her way carefully toward Hiccup, feet padding quietly on the cold stone surface, the Vigilante hunched down and murmured quietly, "I think it's best if we leave this room. As you said, you have many questions. If you want to talk more about this, we should return to the cliff side. Neither of us like seeing what's in here."

Hiccup glanced quickly over at the far end of the room, where the exit lay, where he could find freedom from this ice-covered fortress. _So much for getting out of here._ Even if he refused to speak to the Vigilante again, he suspected that she would not allow even her son to leave her hideaway now. Not with what he knew. As one, he and Toothless turned around and started following the Vigilante back to the center of the mountain.


	22. XXII The Power of Will

**XXII.**

Having experienced more than her fair share of harrowing escapades over the years, Astrid did not feel nervous approaching Drago Bludvist. However, to claim she felt completely at ease would have been just as enormous a lie.

Iron bit hard into her cuffed wrists, linked tightly together at the small of her back. Soldiers roughly gripped her arms in their calloused palms, half-leading, half-dragging her toward a towering dais at the front of the ship. Instinctively she tried to shoulder either man to her side, yanked at her arms occasionally to loosen the men's grip on her, and snarled at her captors – yet she knew very well that all such actions were futile. Even if she could somehow pull herself entirely out of their grasp, no chance existed that she might also run completely to the other side of the massive ship, past towers of dragon traps, crates of supplies, and clusters of soldiers, and then after all _that_ manage to hop onto Stormfly and race away.

_Stormfly,_ she thought suddenly. _I hope they haven't found her, too._

Unbidden, thoughts of what the dragon trappers might inflict upon her dragon entered Astrid's mind. Squeezing her fists behind her, Astrid hoped, _Maybe Stormfly will understand something is wrong when I don't return and fly back to warn the other riders from Berk._

A Nadder's loyalty, though, might also mean Stormfly would head straight toward danger and trap herself alongside Astrid.

_Gods forbid it. _

But after tripping on a loose plank on the deck, stumbling, and then glancing upward toward the dais at the front, Astrid's thoughts immediately evaporated from all concentration on Stormfly. For there before her stood Drago Bludvist. Her first time meeting Drago, he already had been an impressive giant, just as one would expect for any Viking chieftain. Yet now, with his glare fixed upon her, she found him something more. An imposing figure, just as tall as Stoick the Vast, yet with blackened dreadlocks, dark eyes, and a face liberally torn apart by scars. And a scowl that ripped his face with more tenacity than any of his half-healed wounds.

"What have we here?" he asked in a quiet yet somehow still menacing voice. "I've seen you. The Hooligan girl."

"That's all you can say? That I'm a Hooligan and I'm a woman?" she scoffed.

"We found her spying on us," a voice behind Astrid apprised; she recognized it to be the voice of the woman soldier she had sneaked up on earlier. "She might have heard some important information."

Drago's face, though still hard as a rock, subtly shifted into a deeper frown. With a low bite he rebuked, "There should have been no need to discuss 'important information' in the first place."

Astrid felt the guard on her right side flinch. And she herself felt her own body steel when Drago dragged his gaze from the woman behind her and forcefully landed his heavy eye contact onto Astrid.

"But in the same way, there should have been no need to steal onto my ship either."

"And that justifies handcuffing and rough-handling me?" she challenged. "Stoick won't accept this. _No one_ on Berk will. We'll tear you apart. You might have most of Berk thinking you're they're ally, but I _know_ you are planning to turn against us. And once they find out that you've taken me, there will –"

Drago leaned forward. Spoke very, very softly. "None of them need to know."

For the first time in this entire interaction, she realized they very well might kill her. And with a potential battle imminent, there was no guarantee anyone would send out search and rescue parties to recover her. Everyone could just assume she was one of the casualties. Unless someone noticed quickly that Astrid had disappeared – hopefully Fishlegs or one of the others would take notice and act – then she very well could die, her body never found by anyone on Berk, or be captivated with no hope to escape except by her own wit.

She had never feared death, but her mouth still dried as Drago brooded, staring down at her, judging, weighing, mulling. He opened his lips. Scars stretched on his cheeks as he spoke. "Keep her alive for now."

She felt herself exhale in relief. In truth, Astrid had not even subconsciously known she had been holding her breath until now.

"After all," Drago said, the left half of his mouth twitching into a snarling grin while the other half remained icy cold, "she could be useful later on. Put her in the dragon traps. We'll deal with her after the battle."


	23. XXIII The Power of Will

**XXIII.**

A small, well-contained fire, supplied by a nearby Big Spotted Gormless, flickered between two sets of human hands. Yet as welcoming as the setting initially appeared, a few incongruities marred an otherwise homely-seeming evening dinner. Fingers hovered but never touched the food resting on twin makeshift platters, each of which held a few half-cooked, half-burnt sturgeons. Instead, one left hand fidgeted, thumb rubbing pointer finger, curling and unfurling knuckles, thumb tip feeling out on other fingers the joints and callouses and tiny wrinkles and hair and textures. Once that hand reached up to nervously rub a rough leather vambrace resting on the opposite forearm, as though to firmly assure himself he still wore some armored protection from the quiet giant seated silently directly across from his hands and the fire. She stared into the flames, their bright yellowish lights flickering inside a pair of dilated irises.

"So your father," she said, shattering silence with a nervous verbal lilt, "he is doing well?"

Hiccup shifted his weight, pursed his lips, and stared downward. He had thought his initial meeting with the Vigilante had been incredibly discomfiting, yet at least then they had restricted their conversations to important situations at hand. Hearing this stranger inquire after Hiccup's own father – a rather private conversation – painfully poked at the separated relationship of wife and husband, mother and son. Somehow, her asking after Stoick made Hiccup feel somewhat vulnerable.

"Uh, fine," he mumbled, right hand idly poking at a stick near his boot. "As always, pretty busy, I guess."

The sound of fire flickering consumed their sudden silence. In the distance, a dragon roared – it sounded like a Vampire Spy-Dragon or maybe even a Wolf-fang.

Then, thinking of how he might connect with the Vigilante – he still could not think of her as "Mom" – and simultaneously suggest that humans _could_ change for the better and her war averted, Hiccup remarked, "Dad, uh, he – he rides a dragon now, you know."

The woman watched him sideways from across the crackling firelight.

"It's a Rumblehorn. Named Skullcrusher. An enormous, somewhat intimidating, stubborn beast. Never listens to anyone but him. Fits him perfectly – even I find it hard to tell apart my dad from his dragon sometimes."

To Hiccup's surprise, his mother responded to his last quip with her own, answering him in a low voice, "I think the dragon's the one without the beard, right?"

He pulled the corners of his mouth up very slightly into a small smile, still staring at the fire, and considering how strange it was to be speaking with the Vigilante over the mutually known chief of Berk. Hiccup breathed, "Yeah," and nodded.

The Vigilante, with a chuckle, remarked, "If only what you said were possible."

"If what were possible?"

"Your father, with a dragon." Glancing over at Toothless, seated behind Hiccup and being the only one to actually eat his sturgeon dinner, she pointed out, "I can hardly even imagine your father accepting your Night Fury friend."

_You've thrown your lot in with them. You're not a Viking. You're not my son - _the strength of some memories never faded.

Hiccup admitted, "Uh, he didn't take it all that well. But… then… he _changed_. They all did." And even though Hiccup knew he was repeating this conversation from earlier, he again remarked, "Pretty soon, everyone back home had dragons of their own."

"Believe me, I tried to change things as well, but people are not capable of change, Hiccup. Some of us were just born different."

Trying not to roll his eyes, Hiccup groaned, "Did you not hear anything I've been saying? It's already _true_ that people can change. Berk is _proof_ there is change. Why do you keep insisting that we have to fight –"

"We've already had this conversation. This peace you claim to have on Berk will never last. It's only a matter of time before men begin abusing dragons again." Standing, then brushing accumulated dirt from her pant legs, she stepped away, saying, "The night is late. Don't leave. The dragons know your scent." It was only after she started disappearing into the distant darkness that Hiccup also heard her murmur, "Sleep well, son," and begin humming the same song as he heard his first night in the fortress.


	24. XXIV Stoick Finds Beauty

**XXIV.**

The Vigilante was gone when Hiccup woke up, but on the ground a pile of fresh-caught fish, which Toothless was already downing, proved her earlier presence on the cliff side. Thankfully none of the fish had been cooked; Hiccup would prefer doing that himself rather than consuming another half-charred meal from the Vigilante. His mother.

"She might not be incredibly tactful in many ways," Hiccup remarked, watching Toothless bury his head in the middle of the fish pile, "and a bit passionate beyond the point of reasoning. Not all too differently like Dad, I suppose. And… I guess… she does care. In some ways." _Still a lot to get used to, but maybe I can work with this. _Hiccup turned to Toothless and murmured, "So what do you think of her, bud?"

Toothless, with a low contented hum, sucked up some of the fish at his feet. What had once been an enormous pile of sea life now dwindled to a tiny hill.

"Oh, I get it," Hiccup scoffed. "Someone who feeds you automatically is your friend. Some great judge of character you are."

Toothless raised his eyes, pitiful, pupils dilated wide as he pouted up at Hiccup. His wings drooped down at either side. Probably intentionally, the dragon's body language mirrored the moment of their first bonding, back when Hiccup himself had offered the Night Fury a fish back in the cove five years ago.

"Fine then," Hiccup said, scooping up the last two fish on the ground and stepping away from the dragon. Now was as good time as any for a stress reliever. "If you want these fish, you're going to have to come get them."

The dragon's eyes narrowed to half-open judgmental squints, and Hiccup could almost imagine Toothless muttering, "You've got to be kidding me," through the intonation of his low rumbles. He stared at the fish dubiously, judging whether or not Hiccup actually were serious in holding them out away from him, as well as gauging how he would be able to retrieve his meal while expending the least amount of effort.

"Lazy dragon," Hiccup scoffed, striding even further away from the dragon, past the ashes of last night's fire and toward the center of the cliff, foot and metal leg gently squishing down the moss carpeting this area. "You used to have to hunt for these entirely on your own, after all. Now we feed you. And _now_ you can't even move your scaly rear end a few meters to retrieve a pair of sturgeons?"

With one powerful surge of his wings, Toothless pounced straight at Hiccup, knocking the one-legged Viking over completely. Hiccup, as he was flung backward, let go of both fish. They cartwheeled backward.

"You still don't have them!" Hiccup screeched. He half-laughed, half-gasped that jubilant proclamation. As one, he and Toothless pulled themselves onto their feet to scramble after the fish. A flurry of rocks and feet and hands and wings skidded over green-cloaked ground. Movement more than vision led them to their targets. Hiccup managed to dive on both of them and tucked them underneath his chest an instant before Toothless arrived, but the dragon, not dissuaded, reached for Hiccup's armor collar with his teeth, pulled the Viking up, and shook him. Hiccup's grip only tightened on the fish this time, though.

"You're not getting them!"

Resorting to more dramatic measures, Toothless began to flap his wings and hover off the ground, slowly moving upward, causing Hiccup's legs to swing precariously. He hung above the ledge, somewhat near a waterfall, so that the spray of the water splashed Hiccup's face. He coughed.

"I have a flight suit, Toothless. That's not going to work. Do you really think I could be afraid of heights when I don't hesitate to nose dive off your back?"

Toothless pulled his tail up, and with it, whacked Hiccup's arms, producing a loud snap that echoed across the fortress. Again, the fish slipped from his hands, sturgeons plummeting back toward the ground. A happy screech escaped Toothless' jaws. Promptly, the dragon deposited Hiccup on a small, steep tower a little distance away, then flew down to retrieve his meal. He slurped down the two fish enthusiastically.

"Alright, alright, you win!" Hiccup exclaimed. "Now can you get me down from here?"

The dragon glanced up only briefly at Hiccup before settling himself down on the ground.

Huffing, the Viking proclaimed, "Fine. I can fly, too, you know." Stretching the wings of his flight suit, then glancing down to gauge his distance downward, he prepared to jump. Hiccup's present location was little more than a spire with a diameter as wide as Hiccup was tall, but vertically inclined at a near ninety-degree steepness from the ground. Hiccup could not properly gauge his height above the ground, yet it well could have rivaled the towering Sea Stacks back on Berk's coastline.

Toothless, startled, hurled upward to offer a ride before Hiccup could jump.

_Just as planned._ Hiccup, satisfied, settled himself in Toothless' saddle.

The two of them settled down onto the cliff together. Both, needing a breather, stirred up no more trouble, at least for the time being.

And then, suddenly, Hiccup was jerked backwards. Something blocked mouth. An arm from behind. Unable to scream. Toothless whirled and growled. And then an instruction, "Easy now."

Hiccup stumbled around and away from his sudden ambusher, adrenaline rushing through his body at even greater levels than when Toothless had lifted him up off the ground. He recognized the voice of the man who roughly clasped a hand over his mouth. Turning around to face him, Hiccup exclaimed out frustratedly, "Dad! How did you get in here?"

"Same way I'm getting you out," he warned Hiccup. "Come on, while your captor's gone. We don't have much time. Come." And with that, he grabbed Hiccup's left arm and yanked him toward the nearest cave opening in the side of the sheer cliff walls which surrounded them. Both of them plunged into lower light, Stoick determinedly, Hiccup scrambling along unwillingly. Toothless followed along behind, eyes wide, but not helping Hiccup break free.

"Okay, uh, Dad there's – there's – uh – something you need to know," Hiccup stuttered as he and his father climbed over a rise in the cavern floor.

"Yeah, yeah, tell me on the way." Stoick's voice, for whatever reason, sounded a bit anxious.

"This isn't an 'on the way' kind of update, actually!" he protested.

"I've heard enough, Hiccup."

"More of the earth-shattering development variety…"

"Yeah, just add it to the pile."

"Wait, uh, uh, um… Dad… unlike most surprises I spring on you, this one you'll like. I think? Maybe? You just have to handle it… delicately… Dad, Dad, are you _listening_ to me?"

Stoick turned around and hushed Hiccup. His eyes shifted back and forth in the cave, which was increasingly becoming narrower and darker, and murmured, "It's not safe here. Keep your voice low. The woman who's been holding you prisoner is dangerous."

"See, that's the thing," Hiccup protested, waving his one free hand exasperatedly. "I don't know if she is. I think she means well, I don't know! She… she's been fighting the trappers but… it's – it's all so complicated, it's hard to straighten out, but she's actually –"

Stoick glared at Hiccup. "First, keep your voice down. Second…" he shifted his weight uncomfortably. "What has she been telling you?"

"Oh, only that she's my _mother_."

Stoick sighed. He seemed resigned by the news brought in Hiccup's biting response, not upset, shocked, or surprised. "I had hoped she would have never noticed who you were and never told you. This makes things more complicated." The chief again turned to continue down the tunnel, but Hiccup, yanking backward, balked and exclaimed, incredulous, "Wait!"

Pause.

"You _knew_?"

"Yes." A reluctant one-word reply.

"So – so – so wait a minute. Wait… You're saying all these years, you told me my mother was – was _dead_ – you knew she was alive, but you had me believe that she –"

"I thought it would be better that way."

"It was better to lie to me?" Hiccup shook his head, shocked. "About my own mother? I could have handled the news, Dad. Telling me she was off fighting for dragons isn't any worse than telling me she was _dead_. In fact, I –"

"I told you she was _dangerous_," Stoick snapped back. "More than once. And yet you ran off and got yourself captured. Of all irresponsible –"

"How – how is this irresponsible? Look, I'm trying to stop a war here. But what about you? You _knew_ it was her all along attacking the trappers. So why didn't you do something about it? You're letting a war go on. If anyone is irresponsible, it's –"

"Hiccup! You do not know what you're talking about!" Stoick shouted. All attempts to be quiet and stealthy appeared to have vanished in the midst of the argument. He grumbled beneath his beard before checking his temper. "It's not just that she's fought for dragons, it's because…"

And his voice cut off.

Once again, the Vigilante noticed someone had been trying to escape, and stood further along inside the cave – behind her, several lines of dragons, all of whom had probably detected Hiccup's absence from the center of the mountain. Her presence had choked off Stoick's voice.

His grip on Hiccup's arm immediately loosened. He dropped his heavy arm to his side and trod, slowly, slowly, as though in a stupor, toward the woman he had married.


	25. XXV Stoick Finds Beauty

**XXV.**

Out from the depths of the caverns more dragons poured in, from nooks and crannies entered Hogflies and Fireworms, from larger crevices Skullions and Strangulators, and still from other passages Gronckles and Whispering Death and Hobblegrunts and Riproarers and more species than any but a true dragon master could name. Past one another they slipped, constantly shifting positions, coming and going, enormous ants in their nest, glancing over their shoulders at the two male human intruders staring wide-eyed toward the center of the cavern. There, where the ceiling rose up from cramped corridors to a spacious chamber, surrounded by swarming dragons ever-entering and exiting, stood the Vigilante. Yet, flanked by over a dozen protective dragons, with a backdrop of green-blue ice formations rising behind her, the Vigilante of the North somehow seemed frightened, cowed, rather than impressive. Even standing tall, at a higher elevation than the two men in the chamber, she was vulnerable.

And a clatter rang out through the chambers as a Viking warrior's helmet hit the floor. The two horns skidded on the ice in a brief half-circle before they rest unmoving at Hiccup's metal prosthetic. He shifted nervously, left hand drumming at his thigh, as his father left his dropped helm behind him and bit by bit placed one foot before the other toward his wife.

A man drawn toward the song of sirens could not have moved in a more dream-like, enchanted state. Or perhaps caution and great wariness guided his slow approach. Hiccup could not gauge either way – his father either moved with some extensive sense of awe or a profound, distrusting guardedness. The Viking could only watch his father's cape-covered back slowly progress forward in the cave. Reverent, quiet footfalls crunched on ice and rocky ground beneath, but Stoick seemed deafened to it all, breathing out the name, "Valka?" and edging onward.

No breath but those of the dragons exhaled in the chamber. Hiccup gaped, perplexed, attempting to cognize current events.

"I know what you're going to say, Stoick."

Left foot forward.

"How could I have done this?"

Dragon breath.

"Stayed away all these years – and why didn't I come back to you? To our son?"

Right foot forward.

"Well, what sign did I have that you could change, Stoick? That anyone could?"

Left foot. Dragon breath.

"I pleaded so many times to stop the fighting and to find another answer, but did any of you listen?"

Right foot.

"I know that I left you to raise Hiccup alone, but I thought I was needed elsewhere. To fight for the dragons when no one else ever would. For I was wrong that there could be peace. I see that now!"

Left.

"Oh, stop being so stoic, Stoick!" she cried, voice now wavering, on the verge of tears. Hiccup cringed from below as his father reached Valka's vicinity, so close the Viking chief could now reach up to touch his wife. He began to raise his left hand toward her, but the Vigilante backed up, frightened.

"Go on!" she urged, voice rising. "Shout! Scream! _Say_ something!"

Stoick's hand made contact with Valka's cheek. She shied away, but then let it rest on a falling tear. Parting his lips, Stoick very quietly murmured, "You're as beautiful as the day I last saw you."

Her eyes widened in shock.

"But the last day you saw me –"

"I know," Stoick whispered. "The meeting of the chieftains."

Hiccup stepped back in shock. In all the events that had occurred over the past few days, somehow he had completely forgotten the story his father told him back on Berk. Of the meeting of the chieftains, the woman who entered and announced she alone could separate humans from dragons, whose departure was signaled by attacking dragons descending through burning rooftops. Of the slaughter. All Viking leaders dying… apart from Stoick.

Stoick. Her husband.

"But…"

Stoick's eyes moved downward toward Valka's hands. Both were clenched firmly on her staff. "While everyone else burned," he said, "you saved my life."

Valka's stuttering ceased, leaving both husband and wife silent.

Their son, still standing a distance away beside his dragon, continued to gape. Even Valka's dragons shifted uneasily, attempting to measure precisely how nervous their human leader felt, and whether or not they should intervene in the encounter. Toothless moaned low in his throat, as if from sympathy.

"I know you spared me that night," Stoick murmured. "For all you wage an impressive war against Vikings, you still are not completely against us."

"You know we cannot unite these two worlds of dragons and Vikings," she said, her voice taking on Stoick's low volume. "Do not make my decision harder than it already is."

But Stoick stepped forward, and with even a gentler whisper, one Hiccup could barely make out, asked, "Remember our song, Valka?"

Hiccup never saw the Vigilante more uncertain.

And Stoick began to whistle.

The whistle was airy, breathy, sometimes more like a gust of air than a human-produced pitch. Yet the notes of a melody still distinctly echoed through the chambers, down the halls where the dragons amassed, ricocheted off the ice walls guarding Valka's back, reverberated back toward Hiccup and Toothless and the corridors beyond.

"No, stop," she choked even as he began singing the lyrics of an old folk tune. He reached out to take her staff from her, and her hands, loosened, let the rod drop.

"I'll swim and sail on savage seas… with ne'er a fear of drowning." Stoick inhaled a large, anxious breath. "And gladly ride the waves of life… if you will marry me. No scorching sun nor freezing cold will stop me on my journey. If you will promise me your heart…"

Hiccup waited for his father to sing the next lyric.

No words came. Stoick appeared to be waiting for Valka to finish the line.

"And love…" he prompted.

No response.

"And love…"

She retreated, eyes brimming with tears. She almost stumbled in her haste to back away. "No, stop. Stop, Stoick. Those days are over. It – it's not our song anymore.

"It can't be."

She let the words settle in the ice-cold cavern.

"Just stop."


	26. XVI Prepare for War

**XXVI.**

She never realized how much she underappreciated her vision until she lost it.

The rounded dome top of the spherical dragon trap resolutely snapped shut above her, blocking light outside with a sudden burst of blackness, securing blinding darkness within. Immediately the rounded metal wall of her cramped prison evaporated into unrelenting black. The blackness took on a weighty mass, a heavy, oppressing solid matter, and swallowed Astrid into its maw.

The thick, consuming, forceful darkness pressed down upon her so absolutely she suffered indeterminate eras of motionless and thoughtlessness before it came to her she could rely on her other senses.

_Touch_.

Surface. Hard. Unyielding. Smooth. Hard timber boards, pushing up against her knees.

_Okay, but I knew that much before the trap snapped shut, _she thought to herself as her hands sightlessly patted the floor around her.

Touch. Scattered, sewn flakes on top of the wood surface. Like coins on a floor.

Touch. Cold. Flaky. Thick. Fingers fumble. Rub. Pick one up. Feel in hand. Outline with fingers. Flattish. Elliptical shape. Thickish. Size of palm. Rough. Scaly.

Scaly. _ Dragon scales._ Of course. There were dragons scales scattered on the hard wood floor of the dragon cell. And… something smooth… as though polished… curved… and sharp. Either a dragon talon or a tooth, she deduced.

Touch. The continued pressing weight of darkness.

_But what can you hear?_ Astrid could detect a faint reverberation echoing in the small metal cage. Beyond it, in the unseen world of sky and sight, she heard boots clomping on the ship deck and terse voices bellowing out instructions. Suddenly, the procedural, steady movement of heavy soldier footfalls quickened to loud, angry poundings that rattled her ears and the hard timber deck. As the thumping faded and Astrid strained her ears, she guessed to herself all the men and women on board had charged to one side of the ship.

_Why?_

Sudden shouts. Even though the Visithugs had charged away from Astrid's dragon trap, she could still hear their words.

"Four-winged dragon coming southeast!"

"It's the Vigilante!"

"He's sighted us!"

"Prepare the nets!"

"No, steady! Hold fire! He's turning back!"

Astrid curled her knees up to her chin as she intently listened to the Visithugs beyond.

"He'll be heading back to his stronghold – to rally all his dragons against us!"

"Wait a minute. Drago's coming."

"Make way for the chief!"

"Quiet."

"Quiet now."

Astrid strained her ears.

Heard nothing.

_Drago spoke softly when he met with Stoick the other day,_ she recalled. She could hear but the near-silent snuffling of boots, not the Visithug chief's voice. And that was assuming he had arrived and had begun speaking to his people.

Waiting in amassing gloom, muffled sounds, nothing but the touch of her knees pulled tight to her chest to provide herself physical sensation.

Shouts. Cheers.

_Like a cry to war._

And indeed she heard the scrape of anchors being raised, and someone hollering above it all, "No time to wait for the Chief of Berk to return! If the Vigilante still flies, we have to assume his plan failed. Raise the sails!"

Astrid's stomach sank. She knew without seeing it that the Hooligans, upon hearing about the Vigilante's brief visitation, would soon be raising their sails and heading north, too.

_I'll never get out of here in time._

_Never get to warn them about Drago's future plans to turn against Berk._

"Prepare for war! We go to attack!"


	27. XVII Prepare for War

**XXVII.**

Hiccup's heart dropped.

_I wanted them to be together,_ he realized in a sudden moment of clarity. While the rest of his mind struggled to fathom what was occurring, this thought towered unwaveringly above an otherwise muddled storm.

_Even if… even if Mom and I _did_ get off to a bad start, I wanted…_

_I wanted my family to be whole._

Valka, however, stood stiff apart from Stoick, her response definite, not to be retracted. "Stop," she had said, when Stoick began to sing. "It can't be."

Now Stoick's face smarted as though hit by a block of ice. In a way, he had, for Valka's words were just as sharply cold as the ice backdrop behind her. The creases under her husband's eyes sagged, and his irises shifted downward while his left hand dropped away from Valka's face. "Then you're continuing the war?"

"I must." Resolute voice, straight back.

"There's no possible way…"

"No. I stand with the dragons. And even now…" she summoned a haggard breath into her lungs "…I must prepare for a battle."

The dragons in the cavern seemed to shift at that last word, almost as though they knew the semantics behind it.

Stoick, contrastingly, seemed puzzled by Valka's latest expression. "Battle?" he reiterated, the inflection of his voice slightly raised in bafflement. Hiccup, still behind the two of them, frowned as well. _What has she been up to while Toothless and I were resting?_

"This morning I saw," she said tersely, "an armada of ships. I recognized the vessels. They're Drago's – the dragon trappers! In a day they'll be here to attack me. I must prepare to defend myself and the dragons."

"Valka, no. Sit this one out. We can reason it through –"

"An armada of ships, Stoick, heading straight at me? This has gone beyond the point of reasoning."

"They're here because of me."

And Stoick, in the following stiff silence, restated, "They're here because of me. Some of my men are amongst those ships. We came to –"

She cut him off before he could explain any of his motivations and reasons. Her rigid back tightened even more, arching almost like an angry cat's. Though Hiccup should have realized the change in his mother's demeanor sooner, he realized all at once she was not merely uncomfortable around Stoick in this conversation, but defensive, and increasingly, increasingly agitated, feeling as though she were being pressed. Or betrayed. "I should have seen this coming." Hurt crept over her features, metamorphosing her face from its earlier affectionate and sympathetic tenderness to an eerily frightening visage. "You brought guests? How… rude…" And her voice dropped off as she mulled over the news, a frown wrinkling her eyes into a pair of angry, hardened emeralds.

Stoick held up his hands cautiously. His words sought to calm his increasingly unsettled wife. "Slow down, Val. It's not what you think. They're here to rescue Hiccup, sent just as a precaution… Val. Valka… they have nothing to do with trapping dragons."

"He's right, Mom," Hiccup said, stepping forward at last, rushing up a slope of ice quickly enough he almost stumbled. Although Hiccup knew nothing of this rescue attempt prior to Stoick's statement, he knew his father well enough to make that claim nevertheless. He reached his parents, and, standing between them, said, "Dad wouldn't do anything of that sort. Don't get angry. Please. Believe me."

Her voice somehow sounded both heated and cold. Drawing out her words, heavy and regretful, but also with underlying ire, she proclaimed, "I've done far too much… of that… already. You're all very clever, aren't you?"

"Val –"

"And – and I fell right into your trap." Anxiousness contorted her words, increased their rate of delivery. "Distracted with heartstrings and false promises while your _allies_ –" she spat out the word, clearly referring to Chief Drago and his men "– have crept in to destroy me."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic," Stoick protested. "You were the one who needlessly killed an entire company of chieftains that last time we saw each other. What was I to do except prepare for the worst? Look, don't you see? I first came alone for Hiccup. In peace. Don't start a war you don't have to."

"Everyone was in this all along," she said, clearly done reasoning with her husband, whirled her gaze toward her son. "And _you_ –" she pointed at him with an angrily-thrown arm.

"Mom!" Hiccup tried to speak up, stating, "I know what you think. But – you're wrong. I wasn't distracting you so the armada could attack. Or – or – and – I – I wasn't setting you up. Look, _you_ kidnapped _me_!"

She appeared not to hear him. "My own child! How could you."

"You're getting this all _wrong_." Hiccup reached out to touch her, to finally connect with her, his mother. She turned her back. Stepped away. He left his hand dangling and reaching out into empty space.

Valka continued backing toward the ensemble of dragons. Only when she had left both father and son far behind her did she turn around to glare. "Then help me kill them off, the trappers."

Hiccup could only stammer.

She pulled her head down before Hiccup could read the full pain in her eyes. She recognized the final rejection of her offer, her offer for the two of them to fly, fighting for the dragons' freedom together. And with great reluctance she determined, "You're just one of them.

"Unchangeable, unwilling to take a true stand and do what needs to be done. Just like everyone else."

And she turned and left the cave empty, taking every one of her dragons with her, leaving Hiccup, Stoick, and Toothless shocked and alone in the passage.


	28. XVIII Battle of the Bewilderbeast

**XXVIII.**

Dragons flooded the skies. They rained in torrents from above, hurling, plunging downward, roars echoing like thunder, firebreathing flames ongoing like lightning, a fearsome war-ready tempest storming down on an armada of proud-sailed ships. Cacophony and flashing fire reigned, a new angry weather to relentlessly pound on the Vikings below. Men and women dived desperately away from hailing dragon ash and waterfalls of lava. Liquid fire downpours consumed sail and rope and deck and the screaming faces of dying soldiers. The cold white world of snow and ice erupted into orange.

From the decks of many ships launched a number of combatants, another battalion of dragons, each one saddled and bearing a vicious-faced armored warrior, a Berk Viking man or woman hollering defiance in their own bellowing howls. Their dragons flashed fangs as their riders brandished swords and axes and hammers and shields. And so the sea swarmed with dragons, and so did the sky… and the two hordes collided.

Explosion of impacts. Body against body. Reverberations like shattering boulders. Shards flying outward. Blood fireworks. Raining weapons, scales, and limbs. Fire and charred wings and the flurried chaotic regrouping of those still living. Three-planed maneuvers past obstacles, dimensions of north and south and up and down blurring as fighters tumbled through the clouds. Spinning and mobs and blinding flashes and smoke clouds and sudden body mass and dive bombs and weightlessness and then the sudden weighty force of another aggressive collision. Humans and dragon bodies plunging like hail, unconscious and dying skydivers, smacking violent, violent, violent against the ice-clumped waters below. Disappearing and drowning. And still the skies swarmed as though with warring gnats.

Yet even amidst the destruction arose rescue attempts and acts of commendable heroic valor. Intrepid hurling jumps from dragon to dragon. War cries and anthems singing above enemy roars. There Shamus swinging a fatal blow against a Raincutter's extended throat. There Silent Sven dodging a Flashfang's jaw. There Mrs. Ack tearing a Hobblegrunt's wing, sisters Gladioli and Burly Sweet teaming together to drive off an enormous Rhinoback, Phlegma fending off a hoard of Driller Dragons before they reached defenseless Speedifest.

As locusts thronged above with furiously-pounding wings, an entire frenzied ant's nest scattered out from moored ships and poured upon icy shores. Tiny dots rushed toward enormous green ice spires – the Vigilante's stronghold. Visithugs wheeled out war machines, hurriedly transported from boat deck to solid ground. Even dragon traps, while scorned by the Berkians themselves, hatched at the door of the Vigilante's fort, set up to lure rider-less feral attackers. Some traps shot bolas or bolts or giant nets to bring down divebombing dragons. Others, like opened jaws baring sharpened metal teeth, held restrained dragons inside their mouths, only to snap shut with resounded bites when some other sympathetic flyer neared. And Zipplebacks and Grapple Grounders and Polar-Serpents nosedived downward toward them. Screams of suddenly broken bones or torn wings echoed amongst the Vigilante's shores.

On skies and seas and land, there was war. The threat of a dragon rider consistently attacking one tribe and threatening another, plus the inability to compromise regarding the treatment of dragons with the Visithugs and the expectation of future violent with the Berekians, brought twin armies to her doorstep. No compromise would come now. Only triumph or failure could satiate.

As much as Stoick willed it, this he could not change.

A chief sustained many regrets throughout his lifetime, many instances questioning his own actions and motivations. What once seemed rational quickly proved itself to brash, ill-thought, and poorly motivated. Once it looked like the threat of war was imminent, ploughing toward Berk – with the added menace of a kidnapped chief's son – during which it seemed rallying an offense would be wise. Yet what he had done instead was lead a fleet of ships to certain war. Who all would die today as a result of this decision?

_What was I thinking, getting involved in this?_

He and Skullcrusher burst from pillars of ice to come upon the full slaughter of war. For all he had rushed out of the Vigilante's stronghold with his greatest alacrity, he could induce from the scores and scores of dragons spiraling the skies that Valkla had moved with greater speed to protect her own.

To protect her own and fight against his.

Explosions rocked the sky, hurling clashing dragons from epicenters. Visithug war machines targeted rider-less dragons from below. Stoick hurriedly pulled Skullcrusher back, hiding amongst the outer ice pillars of the Vigilante's lair, protecting himself from flaming boulders and watching as more rivers of feral dragons spilled out from some other entrance. Many of the flock dropped from the sky, but Drago's onslaught never managed to create a break in the body of dragons. Only, it agitated them more, bringing greater streams of fire to the skies. Increased the wild screams and furious wing-flaps and cloud-high engagements between beasts and riding Vikings.

When that rushing river fled the caves and Stoick judged he now would not be shot down by catapult fire, the Viking chief urged Skullcrusher onward. Behind him shot Hiccup and Toothless, the red and white skull tailfin of the Night Fury rippling as boy and dragon together leaned in for a steep spiral downward.

_To Helheim's Gate._ And he flew.

Then all clearly-formulated thoughts ended. The coldness of the world outside faded within the heat of battle.

Stomach shot into throat as man and dragon plunged toward ants. Nauseating weightlessness, eye-blinding speeds twisting the world into color-blotched hurricanes. Blotches grew larger, and Stoick pulled up. He and Skullcrusher shot over human armies rushing up to the Vigilante's doorstep. They passed dragon traps, battalions of men, clumps of burning or untouched Viking ships, Berkians and Visithugs in the sky and on sea and on land. They circle, not engaging. The chief scoped the battle field, tried to comprehend some tactics amidst the chaos.

Drago's men drove directly toward spires of ice, a simple straightforward attack made effective by the numbers of men and machines they boasted. The dragon-flying Berkians, meanwhile, cleared space for the men below, keeping Valka's dragons occupied by swooping in and blocking as many dragons as they could from divebombing the men on land. Yet another hoard of Berk dragons drove straight for the main stronghold. But the masses and masses and masses of rider-less dragons engaging battles in the sky or still streaming out of the mountainside blocked most of these from even partially nearing their goal. Even amidst the turmoil of battle, Stoick could still spot a standstill in the center, the barrier which prevented Berkians and Visithugs from advancing further forward.

He shouted out to the nearest warring soldiers for their flanks to outmaneuver Valka's dragons, but dragon roars and metallic clangs hindered effective communication. No traditional methods of war communication worked well in the frenzy of a three-dimensional battle field. He found himself leading a roundabout charge to the left, the bright green beetle glow of his Rumblehorn beaconing other Vikings to follow their chief. The ranks behind him grew, a brilliantly colored sky-navy of rider and dragon plunging toward green-blue ice.

Then out from the very center of the mountain came a rumble. Land masses shuddered as a second mountain peak emerged from the first, mirroring the many-sided spikes of the other… and then it roared. A pair of eyes opened up, a thick square jaw launched out a deafening bellow, and the largest dragon on which Stoick had ever laid an eye belched out an impossible mass of ice.

All around it, dragons flocked. While most of the creatures circled protectively around the enormous, slowly-moving tusked white beast, one dragon deliberately hovered right at the monster's side. Even while fighting off an inundation of other, smaller dragons, Stoick could pick out an armored figure standing stiff-backed on top of that hovering four-winged dragon. Valka.

She picked up her sharp-edged staff and began to swing it in circles above her head. The motion attracted dragon eyes, and suddenly all pressed forward – even the impossible white-crested mountain. That enormous dragon plodded sluggishly, with great deliberation, but its first step brought down reverberating shocks on the ground, earthquakes with every foot forward. Its bellows clearly confirmed its agitation.

From the ground shouted Drago, his voice raised to high volumes at last, "Focus on the alpha! All fire on the alpha!"

An inundation of weaponry flew toward the white dragon, yet by the time massive boulders reached its body, they appeared but pebbles, while arrows and quarrels landed with little more damage than needle pricks. Its eyes never even turned toward the attacking men; the twin sliver eyes of the alpha dragon focused solely upon the Vigilante riding her four-winged Stormcutter.

She was a war general, directing the movements of her dragons. Zipplebacks burst into flames, spun downward, and pinwheeled rapidly through ranks of men. Thunderdrums rose from sauna waters and emitted powerful roars that swept fighters off their feet. Every movement of her staff, every shout, every swing of the rod over her head, brought a new contingent of dragons strategically attacking the weak points of the armies. Deadly Nadder spikes returned arrow fire; Gronckles bludgeoned battleaxes; Monstrous Nightmares set aflame wooden siege towers and catapults. And with every command she made, the enormous alpha dragon locked gaze with a species, and only then did they throw themselves into the fighting.

_That dragon must be controlling all the others, and Valka controls _it_._

"We need to separate her from that dragon!" Stoick shouted out, though none but Skullcrusher initially heard him. From below, Drago and his generals agitatedly gestured toward the enormous white dragon, apparently reaching the same conclusion as Berk's chief.

_Where's a Terrible Terror when I need one? _ Those small dragons had proven useful in relaying messages from one man or woman to another. He alone could not cut off Valka from that monolith; he needed to coordinate with the other warriors directing the flow of battle.

How to see amidst the writhing masses of so many dragons? Right before him, nearly crashing into Skullcrusher's forehead, a red-and-orange beast plummeted, thick-fanged jawline opened in a silent scream and its blood raining down behind it. An instant later, a burning boulder nearly crashed into Stoick's head; he ducked down, watching the block barely scrape over his helmet. A disoriented Viking right across from Stoick then shouted out, "Shortwing, what were you doing? You almost hit Stoick!"

The dragon reared its head, roaring and bucking uncontrollably. Viking and dragon spun wildly, the man still shouting at the top of his lungs. "Get a hold of yourself, girl! What's going on?"

The heat of Monstrous Nightmare flames descended upon the Gronckle – yet another Berk dragon gone rouge.

And then all around them, dragons suddenly reared in the skies, suddenly halted, suddenly trembled, suddenly plummeted to the ground. Scores of dragons descended downward to land on the snowy ground below, moaning and rolling uncontrollably in the snow. Those which still remained in the skies adamantly shook their heads as though fighting off something in their mind. Indeed, only a few dragons appeared unaffected by this sudden change, Stoick's thankfully among them, though the chieftain found himself dodging dragons so frequently he might as well have been on an unsteady animal itself.

It was almost as though… something else were fighting to control them. And succeeding.

Stoick turned his view back toward Valka. Behind her, the enormous white dragon stared intently forward as though concentrating on some great task at hand.

_She's not just able to control her own dragons. She can control ours too._

Back-up or no back-up, Stoick pushed Skullcrusher onward, shooting upward toward the top of the ice fortress, toward the giant dragon, and toward Valka standing on top of her own. A masked, dragon-esque face jerked quickly toward Stoick as he rushed her, and he shouted out, "Stop! Whatever you're doing, Val, stop!"

"You expect me to listen when you pit your men against me?" she shouted. Her voice carried well despite being muffled in armor. Dragon faced dragon, flapping wings to hover, while husband faced wife.

"Valka, I can call a retreat if you let our dragons go."

Somehow that mask could stare menacingly. It focused its gaze upon Stoick, and beneath it, Valka growled, "I saved your life once back at the meeting of chieftains. In the face of _this_, don't expect me to spare you a second time."

And as she started to raise her staff to swing it once more, Stoick retaliated furiously, "Valka! Quit overreacting!"

"You call this overreacting?" she screamed – "_You_?" – gesturing accusatively toward the center of battle. Dragons tore across the landscape, tearing apart the sky, tearing apart each other. Her armor ended in sharply-pointed fingers, almost like the talons of a dragon, and these pointed at all the Berk Vikings Stoick had led to war. She turned those sharp claws to stab them toward her husband. "Let _me_ show you overreacting!"

This time she truly did raise her staff, whirling it overhead again and again and again in faster circles. Beneath him, Stoick felt his Rumblehorn tremble. And then the entire mountain below him trembled as Valka's giant bit by bit changed its attention from all the dragons in the war to Stoick in particular. It let out a small puff of ice from its lips before its nostrils quavered.

"This is the Bewilderbeast, your challenger," she snarled. "She who controls this dragon controls them all!"

Before the Bewilderbeast could act, Stoick heard a screech. A high-pitched screech. Something familiar, often heard at home.

Somehow what must have been a half-second passed through the span of eternity. The steady intensity of the screech rising. The appearance of a black shadow ghosting the skies, a rider hunched on its back. The initializing blue glow, and then a precise crisp plasma blast. A shot at the Bewilderbeast's tusk. Hiccup and Toothless rushing right by, then veering steeply downward and toward safety.

Stoick took advantage of their distraction and reigned Skullcrusher down likewise, fleeing Valka's erected staff and the enormous Bewilderbeast right behind her.


	29. XXIX Battle of the Bewilderbeast

**XXIX.**

"You _knew_ about this devil before the attack?"

The red-bearded chief started to throw his hands in the air, thought better of it, and found himself pacing frustratedly instead. Drago, standing stoically across from him, watched the exasperated Berkian chief with darkened eyes and a stone-hard scarred face.

The two leaders rendezvoused on the ground, a distance away from the thick of the battle, but close enough to keep an eye on the Bewilderbeast's steady, destructive path, and both of them turned now to watch it shoot a large stream of ice from its mouth at a number of men rushing the mountain below it. Unless they implented some counteractive measure immediately, everyone would have to flee to the remaining ships to survive. The ice of the Bewilderbeast, not the fire of Berk's dragons, dominated the landscape.

Drago chose not to respond directly to Stoick's incredulous question. Instead, attacking the heart of the problem, he remarked, "We are prepared to take that dragon down."

"How?"

"Your assistance would be appreciated."

"How?" Stoick demanded, this second instance more forceful.

"Pull it to the ground. Secure it down. Force it to fight for us."

Stoick leaned in, eyebrows furrowed. "Is that _possible_?"

Drago shrugged and responded, "Well, we have to take _some_ course of action." The tiniest and crudest of smiles touched the corner of his lips.

"Fair enough," Stoick said. "Now, to bring the beast down…"

Terrible Terrors shot out with messages, carting off Stoick's instructions across the battlefield in hope to reach those warriors whose dragons still flew free from the Bewilderbeast's control. In time, a few dragons began descending and skimming along the ground toward where Stoick and Drago waited. Grockles placidly plopped alongside green and purple Deadly Nadders, while a few irritated Monstrous Nightmares, still flaring up and catching themselves on fire, settled a little distance away from the rest. Vikings alighted from their backs, hurrying in toward their chief while glancing apprehensively up at the dragon-stormed skies.

"Get your men in position," Stoick murmured in a low grumble to Drago.

A pitiful number of Vikings arrived – far fewer even than Stoick had hoped – but they arrived nonetheless, and with more than enough vigor to try to bring the great beast down.

"Magnus, Hork, I want you two to lead a team straight at the Bewilderbeast's front. Blind it, distract it, disorient it – loud sounds, firepower to the eyes, anything to keep it diverted and confused. Brenda, you take your dragons and circle around the back. Approach the dragon rider on the four-winged dragon and…" "Secure positions on the ground two hundred meters from the dragon and, focusing on its calves and knees, launch…" "All Zipplebacks in the team that swoops down from…" "Critical that you watch the flank with the catapults when you…" "Aim for the…" "Secure the tusks…" "Drop back when…" "On my signal…" "Open fire…"

The dragons, prepared, launched back into the sky.


	30. XXX Battle of the Bewilderbeast

**XXX.**

The dragon trap's domed roof opened above her, its toothy edges facing upward to a sky inundated with warring dragons.

In the haste to reach the Vigilante's stronghold, someone must have forgotten Astrid's imprisonment in one of the dragon traps, and thus pulled hers out onto the battlefield alongside all the others. It left Astrid frustratedly staring upward, wishing for an axe in her hand and a means to escape. For while the mouth of the trap opened up to the world, she knew as soon as she tried to clamber up its metal sides and slip out, it would clamp shut tightly again, perhaps even snapping its teeth on _her._

_This is ridiculous,_ Astrid fumed, wanting to punch something. _Trapped in a cage with an open door._

A Zippleback twisted above her, not too far from the lid of the trap, and let out an enormous stream of green gas. As soon as another dragon neared, the Zippleback's second head lit a spark, sending its attacker howling away. Showers of sparks rained down toward Astrid; she dived with a somersault roll to the edge of the trap for shelter. Cold metal walls greeted her when she stood herself back up again.

_ Wait is that…_

"Ruff! Tuff!" she shouted out as loudly as she could.

Twin tails of a Zippleback flashed away back into the mayhem.

This time Astrid _did_ punch something. The trap's steel wall. And immediately regretted it.

Yet again she searched the perimeter of the round enclosure for some escape, some way to leave without triggering the mechanism that would snap her limbs in two did she try to jump out. Nothing. She understood more about the battle waging above her than how to safely leave this trap, and she only had the small perspective of a prisoner staring up at body clashing against body.

Fires erupted in the skies. Each dragon contributed a different explosion, each unique to its kind – Monstrous Nightmares horrendous orange-hot spirals, Typhoomerangs tornado-like spark showers, Zipplebacks their distinct green gases and enormous subsequent explosions, Gronckles a barrage of shooting half-melted boulders. Even a bright purple-blue burst at one point flashed across the sky like a streak of angry lightning… could that possibly have been Hiccup and Toothless?

_Maybe we're going to win this,_ she thought, hopeful, neck craned upward and intently watching the skies for another sign of a possible Night Fury blast. _If Hiccup and Toothless have escaped, then the Berkians have gotten the main thing we came for._

Then fire met rocketing ice.

_What is that?_

An entire slab of dragon scales covered her vision of the world. The entire sky turned gray as one single claw passed over her trap. It _became_ the sky. The talon lifted over, and then stretches, stretches, stretches of body followed. If something that enormous _could_ be a body.

_That thing has to be larger than the Red Death we fought five years ago,_ she recognized in horror.

_Whose side is it on?_

Terrified screams of men and dragons answered.

_I need to be out there fighting!_ As if one woman's presence could turn the tide of a battle against such a beast.

_But I _can._ What if we can defeat it in the same way as the Red Death?_

A torrent of dragons flashed over her, nothing more than green and blue and yellow and red-orange blurs running like a sky-high river over her head. And like a river they growled and burbled and roared out angrily, a rapid of dragons, ready to pull any under their path and drown them in their unforgiving rushes. Tails splashed like whitewater, fire burst forth like sudden sprays. Astrid ran out to the center of the dragon trap and waved her hands wildly, shouting desperately through the mayhem to be recognized – yet even she could not hear her own voice.

No one else would be able to hear her either.

_This is futile._

Then something hurled down and hovered right above her, just out of reach of the trap's gaping jaws.

Hookfang.

Snotlout, staring down. Somehow – she would never understand how – her peer had noticed her. Astrid could not see his blue eyes widened in incredulity, yet she could imagine the reaction all the same.

And Hookfang simply hovered, hovered, hovered over her, the flow of the battle and rushing dragons wreaking havoc in a background behind them, Hookfang a strange static element amidst it, and Astrid could not tell if Snotlout were shouting anything or not, but the next thing she knew, a chunky orange-yellow Gronckle was hovering beside him, Fishlegs staring down worriedly at her enclosure as well, and there were two of them hoping to rescue her.

"Get me out!" she shouted in the futile hope they could hear her now. "But watch it! It snaps shut!"

She could see them frantically pointing somewhere right to her left. _What are they planning?_

Astrid watched Fishlegs' solid brick-like form brace himself in the shoulders before Meatlug let out a blast. The rock which she had been holding in her jaws shot forward, smashing against some part of the trap, the metal screaming out in deafening rings at the impact. Astrid instinctively threw her arms over her head and cringed. A horrible booming snap resonated; the trap had clamped shut.

But when she opened her eyes, there was still a trickle of light splashing on her hair.

Meatlug had aimed the rock at the trap's outer wall, and now it was lodged near the ground between the two jaws, keeping the maw cracked open slightly and allowing Astrid a means to climb out without being severed in two.

She rushed gratefully toward the wall when the boulder shook. And then in a sudden _snap_ the trap crushed the granite and encased Astrid completely in darkness.

She shuddered at the close call.

The explosions from outside echoed strangely distantly, now that she again was isolated in total darkness and shut off even from the sound of the outer world.

_Son of a half-troll rat-eating…_

She heard something cranking.

A sliver of light, like a bolt of lightning, glowed above her.

It grew.

And then a head popped out from the side of the trap, near to where the boulder had exploded, and shouted, "It's safe! Get out now!"

Astrid did not need to think to respond. She hurled herself through the crack and tumbled onto snowy ground.

_Free._

She turned around to thank her rescuer.

"You!"

"My name is Eret," the tall, muscular brunette protested. He stood alongside Fishlegs and Snotlout, both of them having landed and dismounted from their dragons since Astrid's dragon trap completely shut.

"Yeah, yeah, son of Eret, I remember," Astrid said dismissively. In truth, she had almost forgotten about the young dragon trapper in the midst of life's recent events, but now that he again stood before her, she wondered how he ever could have slipped her mind. She pulled herself onto her feet and walked up to grab an unused axe lying on the ground. Whoever had died would not need it, and it certainly felt wonderful to Astrid to be armed once more.

"Good thing I was here to help you open this trap," Eret remarked, glancing at the crank mechanism which he still held in one hand.

Astrid mused, "You willingly helped me. After being so hesitant to help rescue Hiccup from the Vigilante or even sail to Berk back in the day."

"Look, we're in the middle of a battle, and we're fighting on the same side! Is that really so hard to understand?"

"Where's Stormfly?" Fishlegs worriedly asked, cutting off the bickering.

Astrid stared around the battle scene in horror. Now that she had a clearer view of the events, she realized how greatly disarrayed the entire world was. Men collapsed all around her, diving under dragon fire. Often as not, when the smoke of blasts cleared, organs or burning holes rather than men scattered the ground. Above her, dragons were fleeing the enormous Bewilderbeast, which was howling angrily as a swarm of Berkian riders rushed it from two fronts. A disheveled ant's nest made for greater order than this.

_How can I find Stormfly in _this_?_

Then Eret suddenly asked, "Your blue Nadder?"

"Yes…"

"I saw Drago capture it only shortly after they locked you in there. I think 'Stormfly' should be in another trap nearby."

"Start looking!" Snotlout exclaimed. Astrid launched herself without asking behind Hookfang's saddle, ready to ride the skies on Snotlout's dragon, at the same time gesturing to Eret to slip onto Meatlug with Fishlegs.

Eret's face immediately switched from certainly to worry. "Uh…"

"Get on! She's a complete rose petal on the inside, cross my heart!"

Before Astrid could see the dragon trapper's decision, Hookfang launched into the skies, leaving Fishlegs, Meatlug, and Eret far below and out of sight. Astrid, finding herself unstable as she and Snotlout flashed through the skies, tottered forward and grabbed onto the dragon rider in front of her.

"Too bad you're not Ruffnut," she thought she heard him say.

"Really, Snotlout, really? You're thinking about this in the middle of a _battle_?"

Hookfang desperately corkscrewed downward to avoid a burst of fire above their head.

"This is hardly a romantic flight!" she exclaimed.

Above the sound of three hundred simultaneous dragon screeches, Snotlout retorted, "Ruffnut would think so! She loves explosions!"

"Shut up about your hopeless fantasies and stay focused! We're looking for Stormfly!"

Her eyes scanned the rapidly-changing landscape beneath her and keenly stared into every dragon trap they passed.

"There!" Pointing.

Downward dive. A blue Deadly Nadder, tied to the floor in the center of a dragon trap, struggled futilely against her bonds.

"Stormfly!"

Meatlug veered toward the trap as well, noticing Hookfang's descent. Everyone rushed off the dragons, Astrid even launching off from Hookfang's saddle before the Monstrous Nightmare fully landed beside the trap. She charged to the crank mechanisms on the side of the trap and began pulling.

"Careful!" Eret shouted out, running up behind her. "You're not going to say her that way! You have to –" he adjusted a lever "– do this first… and then…"

"Thank you," Astrid answered. "But – didn't you brag you were the 'greatest dragon trapper alive' or something? And now you're helping me release a dragon?"

"I'd rather have your dragon released and fighting that monster –" Eret pointed to the skies, where the Bewilderbeast roared furiously "– than indiscriminately cage everything in sight. Now go!"

Astrid dived into the dragon trap, dashed straight at her dragon, and began cutting bonds with the sharp side of her axe. She heard Stormfly squawk anxiously as she ran up. "I'm sorry girl, I'm so sorry, I'm going to get you out of here, okay?"

Ropes snapped.

Dragons screamed outside.

Suddenly, the voices in the chaos became louder.

_What's going on?_ She whittled against the ropes faster.

"Almost… free… now!"

Stormfly launched to her feet, tumbling forward to Astrid and butting her nostrils fondly against Astrid's chest. The Viking woman, laughing, dropped the axe and threw her arms around her dragon's face.

"Good girl! Now let's get out there and fight!"

Astrid grabbed the axe once more, threw herself onto Stormfly's saddle, and launched out into the skies.

Not even a recognizable instance passed before she was being attacked. Wildly gaping jaws snagged her hair. She threw all her strength into an axe swing, knocking right up against the dragon's nostrils. It howled, retreating backward just a moment, then struck again. Stormfly took defensive measures this time, barrel rolling. Even as Astrid spun and her stomach twirled into knots, her eyes losing focus in dizzying circles, she noticed the form of a Viking on the dragon's back.

"What are you doing? Don't attack me!"

"I d– can't – control!" She only caught half the words, but she understood the message.

_Dragon out of control._

Claws reaching out to grab her shoulders from above. Astrid found herself being lifted from the saddle. Stormfly screeched and twisted, forcing the other dragon to release its grip on Astrid. She and Stormfly loop-de-looped around, vision streaming first sky, then ground, then sky again, and they came upon the other dragon from its unprotected backside, and lunged.

With a shriek Astrid pulled Stormfly up. "Don't attack! Another rider!"

_Now _two_ dragons trying to fight me? Can't we tell who's who?_

Yet then she realized, an eye quickly glancing at the chaos-streamed skies, that nearly _every_ pair of dragons that turned one on another came from Berk.

_How and why are they all turning against each other?_

Other dragons simply flew downward as though refusing to fight. Gravity pulled down upon Astrid, and Stormfly, too, descended.

"No, Stormfly, no! Stay airborne! We need to fight!"

Astrid leaned in to stare at Stormfly's eyes.

The pupils were contracted to narrow slits, staring straight ahead, almost unblinking, certainly not registering Astrid's worried face nor any of her commands to the dragon.

"Stormfly, no!"


	31. XXXI Battle of the Bewilderbeast

**XXXII.**

The great Bewilderbeast fell.

It crashed down, an avalanching mountain, front legs first buckling at the knees, then the hind limbs likewise collapsing heavily to the earth. Moans accompanied the deep booming echoes of its body thundering to the ground. Aftershocks from its fall capsized men, but they held firmly onto all the ropes lashed around its tusks and knees, leaned up against war machines and still-free dragons carrying the Bewilderbeast's weight with heavy chains, rained another round of catapult fire at the beast's thick legs to ensure its fall was permanent.

Stoick watched from a distance. His Berk dragons continued to attack the Bewilderbeast from the sky as men and war machines secured the enormous creature to the earth. Chains constructed of links the height of men wrapped around the animal's struggling legs and looped around both of its tusks; it was a wonder at all that Drago's men had crafted the chains and come prepared to the battle with these devices. Only the Hooligan dragons had been able to lift them, and that had been an enormous operation in and of itself, successful only because Brenda's regiment successfully distracted both the Vigilante and her Bewilderbeast.

But at last, it appeared as though the battle could be won.

The impossibly enormous dragon was secured.

Maybe.

The vast amounts of weight, the amounts of weaponry fired upon the beast, the amounts of man and dragon and machine power utilized to hold the Bewilderbeast down still did not prevent the alpha from shaking its tusks, resisting, and nearly pulling its way back up. The combined remnants of two grand armies still struggled to contain one massive dragon.

Stoick noticed Drago seemed unworried that the beast was about to tear apart through its restraints, but instead turned to face the giant dragon with a calm disposition, analyzing it, studying it. In one hand, the Visithug chief held his polearm, while the other arm hung limply to his side, covered in a draping cloak of dragon skin. And then Drago, smirking, marched directly toward the Bewilderbeast's quivering chin.

_What's he up to?_

A four-winged dragon suddenly launched itself right in front of him. Before the Stormcutter even landed Valka slid down from its back, poised to fight.

Drago, however, laughed as the armored figure stood up to confront him. "I've waited a long time for this," he snarled. He held his weapon threateningly in front of him in case the Vigilante attacked.

"You cannot – take – my dragons!" she screeched, swinging her own staff offensively against him. Each vigorous strike nearly landed a blow against Drago, and he stepped slowly backward, blocking every movement. The two staffs cracked against one another sharply. "They are controlled by the alpha," she exclaimed, "and the alpha is controlled by me!"

Sudden kick up, nearly landing a block against Drago's gut. He sidestepped. The Vigilante turned, more dragon than human in her next lunging attack. The staff nearly passed Drago's hastily-constructed defense, and his polearm only cumbersomely warded off her jab.

Yet while Drago clearly needed to concentrate intently on his fighting, his voice was calm as he responded to the Vigilante's warning. "Then it's a good thing we plan to get rid of you," Drago threatened, and suddenly drove forward in his own stream of offensive swings. Neck, a near-swipe. Chest, a near-jab. Arm, a swing that barely grazed off her armor.

Her turn to step backward.

"No!"

Her staff landed a blow right on his left shoulder. The blow appeared to disarm him none – almost as though he felt no pain from it at all. With a sudden burst of speed, Drago leaned down with a low sweep and knocked Valka's feet out from under her. The Vigilante crashed against the ground, lower body first, then shoulders, then head cracking on the dirt. She reached up to block his attack, but Drago leaned in, stepped heavily straight on her chest, and pulled off her mask, revealing the face of a shocked middle-aged woman with burning green eyes.

"You will die in failure," he snarled. Drago pointed up toward the restrained Bewilderbeast, whose front legs scuffling pointlessly in the dirt as yet more enormous chains, binding the animal so tightly its pinkening skin swelled up to either side of the irons, secured it increasingly firmly to the earth. Trajectories from catapults rained down, focusing on its face, creating a pox-like effect of splotchy, angry reds. A magma blast exploded on its nostril. The rock shattered on collision, raining down sharp shards to the earth, and leaving a horrid scorched mark at the location of impact. The creature bellowed horribly.

Everyone braced themselves as the earth trembled from its moan.

Drago said, "Watch your beloved dragons die. It's about time for someone else to take control of your… alpha."

Stoick found himself marching forward toward the heart of this skirmish, no mind Valka's last threat had made it more than clear enough even her husband could not approach her without risking being attacked.

But Valka struggled futilely under Drago's boot, arms struggling to push it off. He crushed her down harder. Underneath his foot, she writhed, a beetle on its back, helpless, and about to burst from the pressure of Drago's unforgiving weight.

"In the face of it all," he mocked, "without your dragons… you… are… _nothing_.

"Restrain her," Drago commanded a few Visithug warriors. They rushed up to grab Valka's arms, one on each side, while Drago stepped off of her and proceeded slowly toward the Bewilderbeast. It was moaning louder now from the constant barrage of pain being directed straight at its face. A disease was spreading over it, splotches of red increasingly covering its cheeks.

Valka continued fighting her captors. "You can't do this! The alpha will never listen to you!"

Drago stepped forward anyway.

"Cease fire!" the Visithug chief instructed, and then murmured quietly under his breath, "Let's see if this _will_ work."

He picked up his poleaxe and began howling at the top of his lungs. It was a menacing, uninhibited, wordless yell, a war cry, a scream of dominance.

A full-throated bellow responded him. Though restrained, the beast in defiance opened its lips to emit a powerful blast of ice.

"Fire!" Drago shouted out to his men.

Burning boulders again launched through the air straight toward the Bewilderbeast's opening jaws, pounding, pounding, pounding at sensitive skin. The dragon no longer sought to shoot out ice, but instead roared all the louder, a combination of anger and pain. Writhing against bonds brought it no relief, no escape.

The Vigilante screamed out as well, as though she too were being directly injured.

Moans metamorphosed to angry groans metamorphosed to unrestrained howls that trembled through the skies and rumbled across the earth. Stoick could feel the animal's roars through his boots as he continued rushing forward.

And Drago's roar rose alongside the Bewilderbeast's. His howls were manic, pure fury. His polearm cycled chaotically above his head; each step forward he took was firm, resolute, domineering.

The two beasts roared.

Fire met ice.

The Vigilante shouted, too. "No! _Don't_!"

Drago's men rotated between rests in which the chief simply yelled, and with pounding the Bewilderbeast with more weaponry.

Burning projectiles flew over Drago's head. A sudden wail echoed, echoed, echoed through the clearing as fire lodged itself directly into the Bewilderbeast's eye. It threw its head, mouth gaping wide, both eyes squeezed shut, as a blood burst like tears dribbled down its massive face. The projectile fell, but the beast only opened its one good eye.

And stared directly at Drago as though none but he existed. As though that staff swinging over the Visithug's head mesmerized it, hypnotized it…

…brought… it… under…

… Drago's

…power.

"Impossible," Stoick breathed. His feet automatically quit moving as his eyes shot up to the skies.

One by one, dragons quit fighting one another, but instead flew docilely over the blood-splattered war grounds toward where Drago and his men stood, and even Berk's full army of winged warriors gathered to the area, even the ones who had been controlled by the Vigilante's command.

And Stoick realized all at once, _We've won._

Awe spread over Drago's face, smothering over his features. Awe of power and triumph. Then Drago, smile cracking open yet another serration across his face, slowly moved his polearm parallel to the earth. Pointed its bladed end toward the Vigilante, still struggling against that pair of Visithug restrainers. And Drago spoke two words. Steadily. Confidently. Almost… eagerly.

"Finish her."


	32. XXXII Hiccup Confronts Valka

**XXXII.**

"No," said Stoick. "We've won this battle. Don't kill her."

He ventured a glance toward Valka, seeking eye contact. However, she seemed so immersed in throwing off her guards, struggling against their handholds, that she never returned his gaze, perhaps did not even recognize Stoick had stood up against his ally to save her life.

Drago glanced from one Viking to another, a horrible scowl darkening his face so as to make his black hair seem light. "Very well," Drago returned. He turned his full attention to Stoick now. Slowly and heavily, Drago planted one foot before another and stepped up to the Viking chief. "Then I will eliminate you first."

Before Stoick could consciously react against the betrayal, much less cognize Drago must have been planning this since the very beginning, Drago raised his polearm.

And Valka broke free. Taking advantage of her restrainers' divided attention, she yanked herself out of their grasp, tumbled forward to clutch her own fallen staff, and with an enormous desperate holler rushed straight toward the Bewilderbest. Its eyes suddenly snapped from one outstretched arm to another.

Drago lost control.

The world exploded in ice.


	33. XXXIII Hiccup Confronts Valka

**XXXIII.**

None of this should have happened.

There should never have been this dragon trapping.

Which should never have instigated the aggression of a draconic-minded Vigilante.

Which most certainly should never have initiated this horrible battle. This war.

Hiccup flew Toothless furiously over the scars of the earth. Where once sparkled snowdrifts, blackened ash charred the earth; where once unblemished white coated the terrain, now enormous gray and gruesome red gouges of war machines and fallen fighters stained the ground in gore; where once flew dragons, now dragons fell, and scores of bleeding men beside them. He heard the howl of men missing limbs and flinched. If only this could have been avoided. If only the trappers had not taken the offensive… if only his mother could have sympathized more with men.

Yet she had hesitated… hesitated many times when the two of them had spoken of the war. She had admitted she preferred peace, expressed regret for what she considered inevitable bloodshed.

_It's not some future inevitable event now… it's happened… with terrible consequences…_

War-torn ground. The earth ripped open as though through earthquakes. The toll of dozens dead amassed on the Vigilante's doorstep. A second mountain groaned, the Bewilderbeast moaning a missing eye.

_Now seeing the cost of this, will she believe it's so necessary _now_?_

He needed to find her. Needed to end this. He had to try. Some wars were necessary, but not this one.

Toothless and Hiccup raced over snow and corpses and struggling men and dragons.

_She's probably near the Bewilderbeast,_ Hiccup reasoned, and as he and Toothless rushed forward toward the agitated animal, he scanned his eyes frenetically over the earth to try to locate any sign of his mother. And yet as he rounded Toothless toward the Bewilderbeast, his eyes noticed first the great red beard of the vast Berk chieftain, Hiccup's father facing an equally intimidating man who bore the Visithug crest on his cape. Drago, then.

Just a moment later he noticed the Vigilante fighting, struggling, straining against the hold of two men clenching each of her flailing arms.

Saw Drago point threateningly toward Stoick.

Valka break free. Run up. Whirl her staff. Face the battle-scarred alpha. Spun around, and as her arm stabbed the air in the direction of Drago Bludvist, the Bewilderbeast blasted out enormous torrents of ice. Spires plunged indiscriminately toward both Viking chiefs; the men scattered, ice spears chasing their heels. The world turned aqua green so Hiccup could see the fate of neither man.

Toothless dove.

"Stop!" Hiccup exclaimed as he and his dragon rushed straight toward the Vigilante. "Stop!"

Her pointing arm faltered, the Bewilderbeast's attack halted, and the rushing roar of blasted, freezing water gave way to the quiet of crackling ice.

Hiccup quickly adjusted his peg leg before slipping out of Toothless' saddle to approach the Vigilante. He pulled off his helmet for better visibility and tossed it to the ground behind him. The face mask of his mother gaped before him, watched him silently, expressionlessly, but nonetheless intently. Hiccup could see Valka's neck rotate to keep him in center view as he walked toward her. An eerie stare.

She crouched, poised to strike, just as they had when they first met. Yet the staff she held in her hand had not glistened red at its tip the last time he saw her in armor. Even in her first dragon raid, back when she abducted Hiccup from Eret's ship, she had not used the staff to pierce skin, to intentionally draw blood. She had fought Hiccup then to disarm him.

He could not be sure of her intentions now.

He hesitated.

His thumb briefly brushed the hilt of Inferno on his hip, which Stoick had returned to him shortly before the battle began.

_This needs to be done_, he reminded himself, and found the words to speak.

Those words came out angry. "All of this loss, and for what?" he challenged her. He gestured to smoke rising to his right, the Bewilderbeast still straining against bonds to his front left. "You and I both know that dragons – they – they are kind amazing creatures. To be loved. Protected." Continuing to gesture passionately, Hiccup called out, "Are your dragons any safer and freer now that you have killed a number of ours? And a number of yours as well? You've done nothing good for either Vikings _or_ dragons."

"Is that what you think?" she hissed. It seemed so strange to hear her now-familiar voice, which once spoke so eagerly to Hiccup of mapping the world together and discovering new species, now spit venom against him. Hostility coated her words now. Fury. "I have fought against men who attacked my doorstep and tried to take down the alpha. What did you do? You _joined_ them."

"Mom, I –"

"Don't call me that." Her voice was cold, her face hidden, her body language stiff, yet Hiccup heard the rejection in her words clearly nonetheless. "Stoick always said you would become the strongest of them all. But he was wrong."

Hiccup took a step back.

"I thought I had found someone who understood the importance of dragons, someone who would fight _against _dragon trappers, who would fly beside me in the air, forget the cold, and know what it feels like to _be_ a dragon."

He took another step back as she took one step forward.

"How could you? I should have known. I should have seen the signs." She pointed to Toothless' tail, the red flag contrasting brightly with the dull-colored dirt beneath it. "You're not a dragon rider. You're a threat to me, just as much as Drago."

One step forward.

"I'm not a threat to you. I –"

One step back.

"You call yourself a dragon _rider_," the Vigilante spat the word, "but you fight for their captors."

Step forward.

"They wouldn't be ensnaring dragons if you weren't attacking them!"

Step back.

"I am attacking them because of _generations_ of Vikings harming dragons!"

Forward.

Back.

Forward.

"The world wants peace," Hiccup argued, stumbling over the ground as he inched away from the Vigilante. From a dragon – the mask stole her persona – she was Viking woman no more. An angry dragon now. But Hiccup persisted. "And we have the answer back on Berk. Just – let me show you –"

"No," she said. She stopped moving forward. "No." Reiteration. "Let me show _you_. In the face of it all, your bond with dragons –" she held up her staff – "means" – pointed it toward the alpha – "_nothing_" – and drew a line in the air with that staff from the alpha to Toothless, who stared at the entire proceeding with great trepidation.

_Your bond with dragons means nothing._

And Toothless suddenly began to struggle in the dirt. His eyes jerked away from the alpha, and he squeezed them shut tightly, and then he started shaking his head as though warding off an attack. The dragon backed up as Hiccup, worried, asked, "Toothless?" And though Hiccup tried to reach forward to comfort his dragon, Toothless squawked out pitiably, lashed out backward against an unseen aggressor, and stumbled away from Hiccup's reaching hand. He rolled onto the ground with a short, sharp roar.

Hiccup, glancing upward toward the looming face of the Bewilderbeast, flinched as its enormous eye bore through Toothless.

"Toothless, you okay bud? What's going on?"

Toothless' struggles increased to agitated flails.

_What is the alpha _doing_ to him?_ That had to be what was happening – that somehow the alpha was trying to take control over Toothless.

Valka kept her staff raised and pointed straight at Toothless, an imposing dragon herself in her spine-covered armor.

Toothless' quavering halted.

He rose his head from the ground. And when he opened his eyes, they were mere slits, mirroring the Bewilderbeast's own narrowed pupil.

_Your bond with dragons means nothing._

The Vigilante's staff shifted from Toothless to Hiccup, and Toothless' gaze shifted from the Bewilderbeast and Valka to his rider.

No, not Toothless. This could not be Toothless. Could not be dragon who tore off tree branches to draw scribbles in the dirt, who spent three days in the ocean fishing out Hiccup's fallen helm, who wrestled in the dirt with him, slobbered all over his face, tried to steal his food, flew to the skies with him, flew in the air where the two of them were free, free, free, together exhilarated as they corkscrewed through clouds, this was not him, this was not that Toothless, this could not be Toothless at all. Even when they were enemies, Hiccup and Toothless, and a naïve fifteen year old Viking had first trapped Toothless in bolas, and Toothless never trusted Hiccup to touch his scales… even then that hostility dimmed in comparison to the slitted green eyes staring at Hiccup now.

This dragon – this non-Toothless – gazed at Hiccup both with dead intent and a strange, haunting vapidness, almost as though no mind processed who Hiccup was.

Perceived Hiccup, but knew him not.

A blank stare, but one with a goal in mind.

Toothless crouched down, crept forward, and began stalking his own rider.

The fear of being _prey_ clouded Hiccup's mind. He felt his heart race, and as he held up a hand between himself and Toothless, he noticed every finger shake, arm unstable and jittering in terror. He found himself crouching downward, trying to edge away, trying to slip from that stare, stepping backwards, stumbling backwards up against a chunk of ice, catching himself, standing back up only to keep creeping backward, keep inching away from Toothless, this non-Toothless, this pair of menacing eyes, this horror.

How had he forgotten the size of a Night Fury? Its daunting size. The sharp talons its feet. Its enormous wingspan. The parallel rows of sharpened teeth.

The words of an old dragon manual began to play unbidden in the back of Hiccup's mind.

_Night Fury: speed unknown. Size unknown._

"Toothless, come on," he begged. He kept his hand outstretched as he continued backing up – though whether that hand was to reach out to a friend, or shield himself against an enemy, he did not know. "What's the matter with you?"

A growl escaped the dragon's jaw.

_The unholy offspring of lightning and death itself._

"No no no no no… what are you doing? Knock it off!" He could hear his voice rising, distantly, in the small part of his mind not paralyzed from fear. "Stop!" He threw out his hands. They were outreached for defense now – he knew it – defense against a threat. "Snap out of it!" And the dragon's mouth opened with an antagonistic snarl, and from behind the tongue came a faint blue glow, a familiar glow… the glow of a plasma blast…

_Never engage this dragon._

"Toothless, no!"

A blue glow rising from its serrated teeth.

"Toothless!"

The sound of a screech beginning to rise in the dragon's maw.

Blue.

"Don't!"

_Your only chance: hide and pray it does not find you._

Death advancing.

Brighter blue. Fringes of purple and white.

And in the back of his mind Hiccup heard a shout, calling out his own name. He jerked his head left. There, rushing forward, his father. "Son!"

Screeching loudening.

Blues. Whites. Purples.

Coming death.

_A Night Fury never misses._

_Someone – _"Dad!" – a screech – _is_ – Stoick hurling forward – _going_ – "No!" – pounding heart – _to_ – pounding footsteps – _die._

A blast of light.

A sonic boom.

Impact.

Then… nothing.

* * *

His ears rang and he was aware of nothing else.


	34. XXXIV And Love Me for Eternity

**XXXIV. **

When he came out of his daze, he saw his father's body.

_No, not body. My _father_._

Hiccup was panting, the exertion of breathing difficult enough to handle alone. But he had to suffer through a greater burden than respiration, for his vision focused, sending him unbidden images of...

_ …can't be dead… just can't…_

…of a form lying supine on its side, neck resting on the lower outstretched arm…

_…is he alright? He has to be alright…_

…and visions of shattered ice bricks heaped on top of that still form… and also images of a smashed boulder of ice in the background, which must have broken once a human body flew and rammed against it…

_…_needs_ to be alright…_

…and an entire path of blood and entrails paved way to that unmoving form. And it was little more than a form, indeed – not a hole in his chest but an exploded slimy chewed-up scarlet mass tumbling out from the ribcage. His entire torso _vomited_ a combination of dripping juice and half-eaten, half-burnt meat. Even at this distance, Hiccup could smell the smoke, the pungent odor of cooked flesh, could see areas blackened on Stoick's trunk alongside impossible shades of red spilling onto the ground, could taste blood in his own mouth from when the explosion must have splattered the guts...

_…can't… think… can't… breathe… must…_

And Hiccup, while still light-headed and gasping for breath himself, staggered up on foot and prosthetic to rush to his father.

Yet before he ran he paused, stumbling back on his peg leg, nearly falling. He had just caught sight of Toothless to his right. The night black dragon panted from the exertion of his recent plasma blast, smoke curling out from between his teeth. As his chest heaved, the Night Fury's narrow-slitted eyes stared unseeing at the ground before him.

Hiccup found himself disbelievingly shaking his head, murmuring some word – perhaps it was "No" – and charging straight down the path of unrecognizable organs and blood-splattered soil toward Stoick's unmoving form.

And when he reached his father – he refused to call this his father's body – he immediately began hoisting and shoving off ice chunks to reveal his father's bare arms – he refused to call it his father's body – and once the blocks were gone he yanked hard at his father's shoulder – he refused to call it his father's body – but his father wouldn't budge – he refused to call it his father's body – and he yanked and pulled and strained and tugged and finally turned Stoick over to listen for a heartbeat – for no mind the blood drenching the man's fur cape, or the tendrils of leaking innards dripping and dangling out a half-opened gut, or the already-present pallor of wrinkled cheeks – he refused, refused, _refused_ to call this his father's body, to believe that this corpse – this man, this man, his _father_ – was dead. He threw himself up to his father's chest, stickying himself with steaming, reddened mush now oozing against his cheek, and prayed to Odin for a heartbeat. A foolish, impossible hope. And yet he heard something, a pounding, a very heavy pounding, felt it pulsate through his ear and resonate throughout himself as he leaned in to Stoick's ripped chest…

…but those throbbing beats came from Hiccup's own frantic, racing heart, reverberating through his ear, rather than originating from Stoick himself.

_Come on, come on, come on…_

His ears sought to separate the thudding of his own heart from Stoick's pulse. He leaned in, rubbed at the blood on his father's chest, shoved his ear back onto the still-stained shirt, and pressed his head down _firmly as possible_ to strain for sound. For a shaky drum. A weak fluttering. A single throb. Anything. Anything at all.

"Dad… no… you…"

A subconscious whimper exhaled out his jaw, and he pulled back to stare dumbfounded at his father. At his father's _body_.

Dead.

"No," he gasped, eyes widened.

"_No._"

He felt his breathing quicken as realization took hold. As the meaning of what he didn't hear coalesced into unwanted truth. The truth of death. All its implications. Quickened breaths transformed into louder gasps; gasps gave way to sobs. And as his shoulder heaved, he pulled his left arm forward, laid it on top of Stoick's body, and buried his face in the cooling corpse to cry.

"No, no, no. No."

He curled himself inward, trapping himself into a small black cave formed by his arms and shoulders and his father below him. The world echoed hollowly in this small enclosure, blocking out the sounds of men wrapping up the battle and the great Bewilderbeast's roars fading into the distance. He felt nothing outside himself except his father's firm body and wet tears on his cheeks. He heard nothing except for his own gasps inside his self-made cocoon. He thought of nothing except muddled devastated denials, repetitions, variations of the words, "No. This can't be happening."

And then Stoick _moved_ under him.

Hiccup threw his head up in alarm.

Kneeling right in front of the body, staring straight at Stoick's tired unseeing eyes, was that armored warrior, that draconically-dressed armored villainess, crouched down on all fours like an animal, emotions and expressions unreadable behind the multi-colored mask.

"Stoick…?" a breathy voice whispered hesitantly. Reached out to touch his limp hand with her own more delicate fingers.

"No! Get away from him!" A yelp. Hiccup stood up to challenge the Vigilante. He angrily gestured toward her – what he gathered to be toward her – for the world blurred in tears and he could not fully tell.

Even with his limited vision he could still decipher that she ignored him. A vague brown-greenish blur leaned in, pressed her hand gingerly against Stoick's body, before moaning, "He tried to save me."

_To save _you. More than a little bitterness at the irony rung through Hiccup's otherwise-dazed head. _But he… saved… me… _It had all been a blur. He had barely seen his father rush up to push him aside before the Night Fury's blast hit. But just because it had been a blur to his own consciousness did not make the event any less real. Did not make the impact less real. The death… He tried to shake away the tears pooling around his eyes, so that he could see _something_… he rubbed at his eyes multiple times, probably smearing blood and grime across his cheeks… and then looked downward.

The Vigilante had pulled off her expressionless mask and set it down at Stoick's foot. The woman underneath that mask, though, was far from unemotional. Grief wrinkled her eyes; tears pooled beneath her irises. She seemed… too human… too caring… too understandable and sympathetic… to be the villainess who had directed Toothless' plasma blast. In a way it had been easier for Hiccup to regard her as the unearthly, inhuman mask rather than the middle-aged woman mourning before him. Now she reached in to stroke her late husband's beard, murmuring, "What a shame destiny has taken such a crooked course. Stoick… just when we reunited…"

"Get out of here," Hiccup persisted, voice trembling half from anger, half from shock. He could not tell what was shaking more – his voice – or his breathing – or his hands. "You rejected him. You rejected me. Years and years of leaving my father and me on our own. I've gotten used to that! I've _had_ to get used to it! But the one thing I don't expect, the _one thing_ I don't expect, is for you actually to betray me. Is that really too much to ask?"

She was silent.

"You're mourning his death? _You_ killed him. You killed him…"

"'And love me for eternity'," she whispered, not at all listening to Hiccup's retaliation. Or maybe she had… guilt plastered her face in far more a tangible form than her mask ever had. "'Love me for eternity'… that's the line he wanted me to sing."

There could be no eternity now.

"But I couldn't… couldn't ever return… to the world of men. Still cannot now." A period of silence. "War truly does have terrible consequences." She looked up at Hiccup, a spark of anger glittering in her eye, and now she was not speaking solely to her late husband, or to herself. "But that does not make the war any less necessary. I cannot desist… not even now… especially not now. The more Vikings interfere, the worse the consequences." Her voice hardened. "I hope you've learned your lesson of what happens when men intrude into the lives of dragons. If we meet again, don't think your dragon will miss his shot a second time."

And Hiccup dazedly watched the Vigilante leave. She crept back, scuttling about on all four limbs as often as she stood, and keeping her eyes on Stoick's body no mind she walked in the opposite direction, a direction somewhat toward Toothless, who was still panting, still dazed, still the mindless monster who shot the killing blast.

The sounds of the battle faded even more now. Tensions must have been resolved in some way. Someone must have retreated, someone lost, someone… "won."

Hiccup did not know who. Did not care to know the outcome of this bloodshed. Did not know where the Vigilante went. Or Astrid. Or Drago. Or even Toothless. Energy spent, he fell forward onto his knees and sobbed.


	35. XXXV All Life's Sorrows

**XXXV.**

She found his helmet lying near an enormous shard of ice. It was cracked a bit beneath the left eye slit and stained in still-wet blood.

Astrid nearly dropped Hiccup's mask once she found it.

A short distance away, Gobber removed his helm, holding it reverently with his one good hand, staring teary-eyed at Stoick's battered body. He had been standing there several minutes, completely mute, simply watching unmoving over the remains of the chief of Berk. Enormous blocks of ice surrounded both of them, most of them green-bluish in color, some of them red. Though many battle-worn, grime-smeared Berkians forlornly slumped away from the blacksmith and his best friend, shaking their heads and murmuring prayers up to the gods for mercy, eventually a few dared approach Gobber, speak softly with him, and then prepare to carry Stoick's body to a ship for one last trip on ocean waves. Yet even as several strong Viking men reverently hoisted up the corpse and carried it away from the ice and gore, Astrid remained, crouched down, fighting away the fear welling in her heart and threatening to spill out of her eyes as tears.

She knew she should be assisting in the after-war efforts along with the other Hairy Hooligans. No one had any time to sit stooped over an empty helmet, not with the threat of another new battle looming. For above their heads a moment before, rising up out of ice on the back of a night black dragon, rode a dragonesce figure proclaiming war on Berk, leading an army of feral dragons with her freed Bewilderbeast at the front, a multi-colored swarm of wings and fangs headed straight south. Berk would need to load the ships and flee – both from her and her new enemy, Drago. For it had been witnessed and told throughout the Hooligan tribe that Drago attempted to overcome the Bewilderbeast and kill the chief of Berk.

He had died anyway.

And so there was not much time to search for soldiers missing or collect the dead. Only quick cremation ceremonies would honor the Hooligans who had fallen before the living rushed swiftly back to Berk. Both the Visithugs and the Vigilante had retreated and would be preparing for further bloodshed.

Astrid nonetheless still needed a long moment to stare at Hiccup's helmet. Her eyes often fixated on every little detail of that mask, as though this lifeless object could somehow transmit the truth of Hiccup's whereabouts. Sometimes her eyes rose to examine the enormous slabs of ice covering the battlefield like overgrown tombstones. Who knew how many lives were encrusted in that ice? How many of the dead, bodies never to be recovered? Women and men like… Hiccup.

It was what Gobber had murmured to her disconsolately before plodding heavily toward Stoick: that the Vigilante riding overhead on Toothless' back, the ice-spitting Bewilderbeast behind her, and Hiccup's bloodied helmet lying unused on the earth, indicated something Astrid still refused to believe. Hiccup had died.

_But we haven't seen his body yet. We haven't seen his body. He's only missing… not dead…_

That helmet had been lying face-down very close to an enormous frozen spire protruding out of the earth. Asphyxiation in ice seemed far more likely a fate than staggering off the battlefield alive. For if Hiccup had been in this confrontation between Stoick and the Vigilante, then received serious injury, the Hooligans would have found him lying amongst the ice chunks by now. And if he had been uninjured, well enough to walk at least, then would he not have regrouped with the other Vikings?

Astrid shuddered. Turned her eyes away from the ice. It was just a simple slab of blue and green crystals – at least to simple examination. The mental pictures inside her head were not so innocent.

The death of both Berk's chief and its successor in one day.

_Hiccup, I'm so sorry…_

She felt numbed, cold as though a chunk of ice had frozen her mind. She could not quite fully process what had occurred, nor could she cry as Gobber already had. She felt the pressure of tears behind her eyes, though nothing fell…nothing ever fell. Yet though dry-eyed, Astrid was far from fine, hardly functioning at all, and she knew that once the battle had passed, the numbness had worn off, and the information had time to fully seep into her cognizance, that she would break and cry.

Preferably alone. She did not want anyone to see her weep.

"Is that…?" a hoarse voice moaned hesitantly behind her. Astrid rotated her body and looked upward from her kneeled position on the ground.

"Yeah," she told Snotlout. He glanced toward the spire of ice just beyond them. That little shift of his clouded blue irises threatened to drip more tears from already-soggy eyes down to his blotchy red cheeks. While Astrid's face probably appeared numb, mournfully expressionless, Snotlout's own countenance depicted the exact definition of unfettered pain. And when Astrid nodded mutely to his eyes' query, and Snotlout realized Hiccup too must have passed from this realm, his pupils contracted, fear and uncertainty layering over his grief. What might have been a slight shake of his head accompanied a small stagger backward. The implications of losing both Berk's chief and its successor – his uncle and cousin – rocked him rearward, and without another word he trudged away from Astrid.

_Just a few days ago, Snotlout had been boasting about how he was next in line after Hiccup for the chiefdom. _

A cruel, cold world indeed.

He was trying to busy himself by collecting arrows for his uncle's funeral. That much the Hooligans would do before launching off the shores of this frozen wasteland. Face hidden by his hair and helmet, Snotlout stooped down, yanking unbroken arrows out from where they pierced wood, or were elsewise lying seemingly innocently on the snow and soil at his feet. But nothing could be innocent anymore. Not truly innocent. Astrid, sighing, finally picked herself up and joined in the same activity. Her mind never engaged in it, though. It remained idle, thinking constantly – though still numbly – about the mask she carried in her other hand. Hiccup's mask.

_He can't be dead._


	36. XXXVI All Life's Sorrows

**XXXVI.**

He staggered in a stupor through the bodies.

He passed dragon carcasses of all contorted shapes – supposing grotesque, bone-broken lumps like that really properly could be called "shapes."

He passed fallen Visithugs soldiers, miscellaneous men, to him all faceless, some literally so.

He passed familiar men and women, too, people with whom he had grown up, who had reared him, mentored him, bullied him, befriended him, gotten married or grown old or birthed children during their years on Berk with him.

_Is that Mrs. Larson?_ _Does Gustav…_No, no, must not think on it.

Even the day was dying.

Directly above his head, bland gray clouds reflected the lifeless heap of ice and bodies resting on the earth. They mirrored each other, battleground and overcast sky, dismal gray with dismal blood. And small patches of blood too dripped down from a swarm of wispy stratus clouds, the haze of incessant leaden colors broken up by bleeding edges. To the north a large wisp tenderly catered to its own arm injury; another cloud nearer west suffered puncture wounds from the Vigilante's fortress impaling it with spikes of ice. Not even the sky escaped a round of casualties.

The world was darkening, and quickly. Its consciousness ebbing away. Fading. Colors fading, but for that red. Fading. Vision sunk into late-dusk haze. Fading. Morosely, the hidden sun slipped below the horizon to hide its eye from the unburied graveyard through which Hiccup staggered, staggered, staggered through, suffering likewise through a haze in his own mind.

Fading.

Darkening.

Dark.

Every image which rested on Hiccup's eye he wished he could forget. He could see far too much even in this dim light.

But the one thing, the one thing he did not see – either dead or alive – was Toothless.

And though the pools of red he passed he wished he never saw – for they reminded him too much of another bloody lake lying beside his father's corpse – Hiccup nonetheless sifted through the carcasses of enemies and feral dragons, hoping… and fearing… he would find his best friend. Finding Toothless dead would only compound the nightmare Hiccup currently faced. Yet even finding Toothless alive remained more than an intimidating prospect.

His heart throbbed nervously to think on it. For what if he did find Toothless? Did he really want to? A fluttering hope reminded him Toothless still could be that warm, energetic friend with whom he had grown up the past five years… yet at the same time, he quashed his own hope with the memories of the plasma blast which took his father's life.

His best friend… his father's murderer.

No, not best friend. Not even _friend_. He did not know what to call Toothless now, but he hardly could identify a vapid-minded killer as his friend. Not when another encounter would more likely than not result in that narrow-eyed Night Fury shooting another deadly blast directly at Hiccup.

If he found Toothless a second time, he could die.

He _had_ to keep searching anyway.

And so the world faded around him – he paid no heed to the living men he passed – he believed they were Visithugs, all of them – and just rambled through the ruins of war. No one stood in his way or hailed his name; no human who stepped around Hiccup knew who he was. He was nothing more than a mind-lost Hooligan man traumatized from the past eight hours.

About halfway through his aimless but still goal-oriented journey Hiccup recollected the Vigilante's last words. They arrived unbidden in mind, a sharp painful stab associated with Berk's fallen chieftain. Yet as soon as Hiccup heard her snarls again in his memories, he realized those words could indeed help him, for the Vigilante's threat suggested where Toothless might be.

_ If we meet again, don't think your dragon will miss his shot a second time._

_She must have taken Toothless._

Weary eyes lifted up to her fortress' jagged spires. The mountain would be challenging to climb even did he feel more vigorous and fully hale, for large masses of rubble tumbled down on the slopes, impeding easy access to ice and entrances inside. Yet Hiccup had to return to the mountain. If it meant finding Toothless, he could find the energy.

He had to know. Had to know. _Where was Toothless?_

Hiccup's surroundings metamorphosed from bloodied tombstones to granite slabs. The flat snowy surface of the battlegrounds grew into a steep incline with slippery slopes. Knees trembled as Hiccup reeled up the mountain slope, often leaning in to crawl on fours as he inched upward. Quickly his right thigh began to ache – it must have been strained when Stoick pushed Hiccup out of the way – when he had tumbled out of range of the plasma blast – when his father had _died_ – but Hiccup continued climbing. Once he entered the mountain, slipped into the sauna sanctuary within, and located Toothless, _then _he would give his body rest.

The world was fading darkness. Darkness. Climbing. Struggling. That was what was left. All that was left. Groping for the next handhold. Groping for hope amongst nightmares. He did not much see the slope before him, for far more often, mental images of a Night Fury opening wide its jaws preoccupied his thoughts. He could still hear the screech of an incoming plasma blast screaming inside his head.

But though Hiccup heard and saw more of the world within than the world without, he began to notice the cold.

Coming night of course chilled the temperature outdoors, yet even during noon the day had been far from _warm_. Hiccup simply had not felt the bite of a frozen wasteland in the midst of the skirmish. Now, however, the rush and clamor of bodies, high-speed flights and heart-surging battle maneuvers, and constant physical exertion could no longer heat him. Chill winds cut even through his armor, slipping in at the joints near his armpits and the back of his neck and his mid-back and near his waist, and he found himself shivering slightly during his arduous journey up mountain slopes.

Everything… was… cold.

And then he noticed spires of ice at the tip of his vision, peeking out from behind the sweat-cloaked bangs half-covering Hiccup's viewpoint. He pushed his hair aside for a better view and puffed out a sigh of relief. At last, he had arrived at the outer wall of the Vigilante's lair. He could enter into the fortress, experience a bit of warmth or at least shelter from the wind, and soon rest his drained body, drained mind.

Before starting to search for a cave entrance inside, though, Hiccup turned around and stared out toward the way he had come.

It would have been considered a magnificent view any other day or night. Hiccup might have been Heimdall from these slopes, watching over the top of the world, seeing all. For the high elevation provided Hiccup an expansive lookout to miles and miles of snowy peaks, plateaus of snow and ice floes floating between wide, dark ocean swaths. Clouds above and the frozen world below reach out, out, out, in endless formations, flat surfaces, jagged surfaces, rolling hill-like lumps, sudden inclines or falls or gentle transformations from one geometric idea to another. Fading grays prevented Hiccup from seeing more – but if his vision had been unlimited – he never would have seen the edge of the horizon, only more and more kilometers of unending wilderness.

Immediately below him, outlined in half-obscuring gray from the fading light, an enormous mass of wooden objects, dragonesce figures, and tiny dots from men cloaked the slope. Everything was scattered below like someone had accidentally dropped and spilled broken toys at the foot of this mountain. The greatest densities of blackish objects began at the seas and became more and more scattered and sparse as they crept to Hiccup's feet.

Then a sudden burst of _orange_ caught his attention.

Amidst a world of increasing black and visual obscurity, a tiny but nonetheless sharp dot of _color_ blossomed.

It appeared to be a mere candle flame at first, except that its flames flickered so far below him it needed to be far larger than that. Yet it _was_ fire. Entranced, Hiccup watched it float from the land's darkened shores to darker ocean expanses.

_What was it?_

Memories of another similar color – bright, unrelenting scarlet – flashed before his mind.

And then he knew.

The world never felt colder, more unwelcome, more hostile, more lonely, than that moment Hiccup's eyes watched his father's ship sail to Valhlalla.

His eyes could not make out the dots of Viking men and women on the shores, but inevitably every Hooligan from the fleet would stand vigil tonight beside quietly lapping ocean waves, salty tears dripping from their eyes, hoarse vocal cords murmuring regrets that the chief of Berk parted ways from Midgard so soon. Someone would speak aloud a eulogy – multiple people, probably – extolling his incredible character traits. His strength as a warrior. His resoluteness and authority as chief. His loving bond as a father. His important place as a friend.

And on and on they would talk through the otherwise-still night in gathering darkness, as the flames from Stoick's ship first ate the chief's body, then his funeral pier, then the boat's deck, and then the mast and the ropes and the sails until the entire vessel glowed with the mirage of the afterlife. That light alone would blossom – at least until the ship sailed away, away, away, never to return. Stoick's ashes would sink to the sea, his spirit take its place amongst the table of kings, and only memories remain on the ocean shore.

Hooligans would share stories commemorating all those incredible deeds done during Stoick's life.

_Yet they'll forget the greatest sacrifice my father ever made… because I'm the only one of them who knows about it._

Flashbacks to aqua green and splattered scarlet. The trauma of a pounding heart and pouring tears.

Hiccup stared at the yellow-orange flower floating in a blackened world, swallowed his suddenly-dry throat, and whispered, "I'm sorry, Dad."

This fire blossom would be the last time Hiccup would ever see his father, at least until he, too, departed the world of the living.

He spoke now because Hiccup would not be able to clamber down the mountain and join the other Berkians below in their ceremonies. He realized that now, just as he realized he might not climb aboard their ship decks by morning and return home. If he could not find Toothless, he would be stranded here.

"I guess I'll never be the chief you wanted me to be," he murmured as that understanding dawned on him. He never would have deserved the position anyway. Visions of bodies danced in his mind. "And I'm not the peacekeeper I thought I was. I don't know…"

His voice cut off but his mind finished the sentence. It finished it multiple times, each completed statement aggravating the uncertainties in Hiccup's mind.

_I don't know who I am._

_ I don't know where to go from here._

_ I don't know what to do._

_ I don't know what _you'd _want me to do._

_ I don't know what's going to happen, or how anything could turn out okay now._

An internal sob. _Why… why… why did you push me aside? Why did you take the hit? You knew you were going to die._

_ I did this._

A more muted question now. _How do you become someone that great… that brave… that selfless?_

The fire below flickered. Wavered. And then darkness snuffed it out.


	37. XXVII Endure and Endeavor

**XXXVII. **

He stood there in the dark for a long while, unmoving. He felt the wind bite up against his cheeks and the alpine atmosphere howl into his ears. Above him a moon rose, near-full, waxing into a glowing blue coin which washed the world in soft blues and silvers. Somehow, the colors created an eerie tomb-like ambience rather than one of peace and calm.

And still the night wore on.

Only when Hiccup began to quite shudder from the night's accumulating cold did he turn aside, moving away from his position facing the ocean, and turning instead toward the ascending mountain peak behind him. Slabs of rock and crystalline ice spears rose hazardously up and upward, but a gaping hole into the Vigilante's lair provided a nearby cave-side entrance. It is to this black maw he stepped; and because his first steps were half-frozen from cold and grief, it was more of a hobble into the fortress than a steady stride.

The wide, expansive clarity of the mountaintop outdoors collapsed into cramped passageways. Inside, a perverted contortion of nature-carved hallways twisted and turned in jagged corners, sharp cuts jerking left and right, or half-collapsed rock formations spilling out over suddenly-narrowed passages. It was a distorted realm through which he traveled. Everything appeared broken, fragmented, splits of reality snapped one from another, as the passage suddenly veered in right angles to the left, then sudden right, then right again.

Even light appeared distorted in the caves – what passed as light, at least – spindly forms which squeaked around crags of granite or splintered through many rhomboidal layers of ice. When filtered through the floes and broken ceilings of stone, the light appeared more like an afterthought to darkness, a reverse shadow, flickering uneasily along the floors and walls. At times Hiccup felt as though he stepped underwater; the bluish ambience of ice reflected everywhere, and when he looked upward, he could see a distant, whitish, sparkling surface, which above it must have lived the moon. Yet instead he crept in gloom… in depths… in darkness. Vaulted bluish ceilings gave way to cramped corridors, the latter fully black and altogether hazardous to navigate.

He kept his hands forward, feeling and groping at air in the dark. He tripped on rubble blocking footpaths, stumbled over sudden inclines or drops, hobbled around what his straining fingers felt must be stalagmites, or columns, or other large stones. Hiccup could only hope he staggered in approximately the right way.

In the absence of clear light, the world of sound amplified to booming levels. Tiny shuffles from his prosthetic scraped painfully against his ears. Haggard gasps escaping from his mouth echoed like shouts. Sometimes he cringed – only to realize that that deafening boom was nothing more than his boot setting down on stone. Any noise louder than that, and Hiccup whirled, yanking out Inferno and extending its blade, even though the Monstrous Nightmare saliva coating it had run dry and Hiccup would have been unable to light the sword aflame. But he would hold it before him nonetheless. Then wait. Wait. Wait. Listen. Strain for light. Strain for sound. Strain for _something._ Keep waiting. And only after many, many unbearable lapses of time passed him by in the uneasy dark, did he decide all he heard was a small animal or himself or his imagination. In this groggy state of mind, head blurring, mind graying, it might have been morseo delusion than anything else.

Then the entire world screamed in a bone-shattering_ snap_.

Backwards he staggered, then stumbled, knees briefly hitting down on stone before he picked himself up again and continued retreating. Yet nothing afterwards stirred… he again crept forward… knees bent, ready to dart once more… breathing stilled… lips pursed… and as he sneaked toward the source of sound, his eyes fumbled through a small patchwork of dim light, and after squinting and frowning and staring into the murk did he realize that the bone-shattering snap had indeed been the sound of a snapping bone. There, the shards of a skeletal hand laboriously pointed Hiccup into a larger chamber. A familiar chamber.

The room filled with bodies and skeletons seemed even grimmer than when he had last visited. Perhaps that reflected his thoughts regarding death's inevitability, or elsewise reminded Hiccup of his mother's ability to kill. It also pointed backward to that death rattling in the back of his mind, that death about which he tried not think. Recollections of his father's splayed organs unbidden entered his mind as he looked about the other bodies in the room.

He tried to keep his thoughts to the present. At least _these_ bodies were older, less gruesome, and did not belong to anyone he knew.

Hiccup stepped forward reverently, knowing at least now he was heading in the right direction. Though he gingerly avoided trodding on the flesh or bone of any victim resting here, once his peg leg knocked up against a shield, while another time it rang against a sword lying on the ground.

When his prosthetic tapped the sword Hiccup paused. Again he remembered that Inferno was useless as a weapon now; and though the war had passed and every army retreated from the battlegrounds, Hiccup still felt the need to hold something _solid_, something to protect him, protect him outwardly even if it could not remove the macabre images still dancing in his head. He might as well take this sword lying at his feet.

It was not an impressive weapon by any account. It was plain, a little battered, and a little proportionately short for Hiccup's arm, but when he tested the blade against his fingers, he noticed it still was rather sharp. A small pinprick of blood leaked out of a tiny crack the blade just cut. The sword would be able to protect Hiccup, and that was all that mattered.

Though it was a simple piece of sharpened metal, hardly worthy of attention much less love, Hiccup's mind conjured a grand name for it nonetheless. _Endeavor,_ he thought – _since I will need to endeavor to make it through alive. _It seemed appropriate. Indubitably he needed the reassurance to continue groping forward, and the feel of cold steel in his hand helped provide that support in its own simple manner.

The journey hence forward felt securer – less warped, in a sense. The atmosphere certainly seemed less ambient and more concrete. _Solid_. And the coldness of ice gave way to warmer air currents, until suddenly the confined walls of rocky corridors burst outward into a cliff side overlooking a waterfall, an expansive ceiling rising upward so high above it might as well have been the true night sky.

He had returned to the center of the Vigilante's fortress.

Worry washed over him. It was time to find out if his mother were here. If _Toothless_ were here. And consequently discover whether or not his best friend had turned – or henceforth would be his enemy.

He felt his heart pounding heavily, heavily, heavily inside his chest.

_Was it such a good idea to come back here after all?_

But as his ears strained for a sound, he realized all at once there _were_ no sounds. No draconic noises, anyhow. The rush of the waterfall, yes. The trickle of quieter streams dancing downward, yes. Yet the wild, distinctive cacophony which he remembered had accompanied every aural moment in this fortress no more resonated beyond the cliff sides, just as no wing flashes or swinging tails came in sight. Instead, Hiccup encountered a vast, vast emptiness.

The Vigilante must have left, and upon leaving, taken all the dragons.

Toothless was gone.


	38. XXXVIII This Frozen Wasteland

**XXXVIII. **

Astrid leaned over the railing of the ship, staring out into the ocean. Nothing but water stretched all around her, a glittering, lolling mass of deceptively calm blue waves. Even the sky lacked any distinctive features, for not a single cloud dotted its wide expanses, not one bird or dragon flew overhead. Only the sun shone above. And so the world consisted of the sun, the sky, the ever-stretching waters, and a large fleet of migrating Viking sails coasting along a slight northeastern wind.

Agitated, with a heavy sigh, Astrid straightened herself and began pacing along the length of the ship. In the past five years of flying on Stormfly, she had forgotten how relatively slow sailing was in comparison. At the start of the voyage, she had assured herself that she would become re-accustomed to traveling the seas, scudding along ocean waves, yet as the days had passed and she still remained fidgety and restless, she had at last resigned herself to the fact she never would feel comfortable amongst the boats. If anything, the journey tried her patience more and more every day.

_Of course, stuck on the same deck with Ruffnut and her unreturned love interest would try _anyone's_ patience._ Astrid glared over at the Thorston twin, who was trying to engage in small talk with Eret son of Eret, who was staring desperately out to the waters as though the sharks skimming along the ocean floor would be better company than the woman beside him. Astrid overheard Ruffnut make some comment that included words like "Terrible Terror," "flames," and "ass."

_Yeah, I don't want to know. Don't want to walk any nearer to those two. _She still did not fully trust the ex-dragon trapper anyway, no mind what defenses he provided for why he deserted Drago and the Visithugs. Ruffnut fully seemed to accept them, though.

_Of course she would._

Slightly disgusted, Astrid turned away from them, marched up to the other end of the ship, and again stared out to the ocean.

She knew it was more than the slow ship journey which provoked her restlessness. Why she habitually, agitatedly paced back and forth. Why she perpetually stared out into the ocean waters. Looking north. Always looking north.

The direction of the Vigilante's fortress, of their lost battle.

It was the last place Hiccup had been seen. Over a month ago.


	39. XXXIX This Frozen Wasteland

**XXXIX.**

The night after the battle on Valka's fortress, Hiccup woke abruptly to an insistent blunt-nosed prod against his chest and a pair of enormous bug-eyed irises staring but an inch from his nose.

_Odin's ghost! What the –? _

Shocked at the sudden awakening, Hiccup gasped and sought to pull himself away, at least as much as he could while lying upon the ground. This resulted in little more than an awkward scoot which solved no problems, for the bug-eyed visitor just jerked forward to follow his movements, double pupils barraging the entirety of his vision. A curious, excited squawk cracked through Hiccup's ears. And suddenly the world snapped to attention. He realized what had jolted him awake, relieved his stress with a short, embarrassed chuckle, and reached out a hand to greet his morning welcomer.

"Well, hello there," he laughed quietly to the baby Scuttleclaw, letting the infant dragon nuzzle his hand. The baby bobbed its oversized violent head excitedly and emitted another congenial squeak. Though probably only several weeks old, the Scuttleclaw already boasted a wing span that must have exceeded four meters, and its length nose to tail tip surpassed a full-grown Gronckle's size.

The Scuttleclaw bounced up and down when Hiccup verbally acknowledged it. It then again pranced boisterously when he pulled himself from a supine to sitting position and wearily opened his eyes. Glancing upward, he gauged the time of day and realized he must have slept 'til near noon. Unsurprising, really, his late morning awakening; though the warm sauna temperatures in the fortress center might have lulled him quickly to dreams any other night, competing gory images and restless thoughts kept him awake for an agonizingly long time. Hiccup, exhausted as he had been, had struggled to fall asleep. But he must have actually managed to doze off sometime.

Now a purple baby Scuttleclaw danced before him, bobbing its head like a bird and gawkily flapping its wings. The novelty of Hiccup sitting up had faded, and now it rushed forward to headbutt him, cajoling the young man to fully rise and give it his full attention. Hiccup did so, and as he patted the dragon's nose, he asked with a baffled chuckle, "What are you doing here, big guy?"

It charged in a full circle around him as a response.

"You're just a baby! You shouldn't be away from your mo –" Hiccup's voice instantly slowed. "Your… mother," he mused. He cringed at first, unpleasant memories surfacing. But then understanding dawned. With a burst of optimism he exclaimed, "So not everyone left this mountain after all!"

He threw his arms out wide toward the Scuttleclaw, and exclaimed the declaration again. "Ha! There are still some dragons here!"

Implicit expectations that he would remain stranded in this lonely mountain swiftly evaporated. A small seed of hope surged forward as he realized he had a means after all by which to travel, to seek out Toothless, and finally to return home to Berk. And after all this world of unfamiliarity and change and shock and war and pain, even the simple _prospect_ that something might go right for him brought forth a hysteric, giddy laugh.

The dragon cocked its head at Hiccup's strange noise and watched as the young man stepped forward. "You have any siblings and friends around?" Hiccup asked the animal. A plan began whirling in his mind. He held out his hand, waited for the infant Scuttleclaw to voluntarily nudge his palm, then carefully slipped onto the dragon's back. "Would you be able to take me to them? Can you do that, big guy?"

He could only hope this untrained tike instinctively would fly toward any other infant dragons residing in the fortress. And indeed the Scuttleclaw launched off – heading _somewhere_ – with barely-coordinated wing flaps that jerked both of them up and down in the air moreso than propelled them forward. Frantically Hiccup grasped for a handhold before he might get inadvertently flung off. Hiccup had not experienced so rough a ride since he first developed Toothless' flight gear five years back. "Am I too heavy for you?" he wondered, yet at that point their flight stabilized, and in a flurry of flaps the Scuttleclaw launched them both upwards.

Up a steep, straight-vertical cliff they climbed. Several times they nearly slammed against stone walls from the Scuttleclaw's uneven flight. "Where are we going?" Hiccup called out. Then he noticed it.

The entrance to a cave near the top of that cliff.

Inward they flew, entering first a narrow passage, and then a wide chamber. Small, neon-lit dragons – either Fireworms or Glow Worms, he thought – amassed on the ceilings and walls to provide light, provide vision for the infant-infested room, a festival of brightly colored baby dragons swarming every inch, play-fighting and hurling over one another and peeping and chirping and screeching and bickering and begging and hopping and flapping and flying and swathing the world in endless energy, ceaseless activity. "It's a nursery!" Hiccup exclaimed, and feasted his eyes on countless tiny dragons.

Round, rolling Gronckle babies burped alongside half-inflamed Monstrous Nightmares. Head-heavy Typhoomerang chicks bared beaks at Raincutters and a whole rainbow of Scuttleclaws. To these Hiccup's ride headed. The two of them landed – heavily – and Hiccup hopped off, just to be swarmed up to his armpit in infants. "Whoa there!" he called out, but he nevertheless was almost bowled over from behind by a particularly eager dragon.

He turned around to see who had head-butted him. A spiky white dragon, it turned out, with equally spiky teeth. It was not a species indigenous to Berk, but Hiccup had occasionally encountered this type of dragon on his mapping adventures in colder climates. The Sabre Tooth Driver Dragon grew to about four meters in length but was incredibly bulky and strong and also adapted to live in tundra climates. Even this infant appeared sturdy and hardy, capable of surviving against severe cold for extended periods of time.

_Exactly_ the sort of dragon he had hoped to find.

"Hey there, Spiky," he murmured, and slowly, very gently reached out his hand. "What do you say we go on a little trip across this frozen wasteland?"


End file.
